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Full text of "The Middle temple murder"

loOll 



CORNELL 

UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 




GIFT OF 

Professor 
B. S, Monroe 



Cornell University Library 
PR6011.L65M6 

The Middle temple murder. 





Cornell University 
Library 



The original of this book is in 
the Cornell University Library. 

There are no known copyright restrictions in 
the United States on the use of the text. 



http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 361 2464 



THE MIDDLE 
TEMPLE MURDER 



THE BORZOI 
MYSTERY STORIES 

I THE WHITE ROOK 

By J. B. Hanis-Burland 

"Exciting, entertaining, and mystifying. 
A detective story to warm the cockles of a 
Sherlockian. Carries a story along with 
the thrills and no end of unexpected situa- 
tions." — Oakland Tribune. 

II THE SOLITARY HOUSE 

By E. R. Punshon 

"Here is a story to start reading about 
9 p. M. if you want to make a night of it in 
the old armchair. If the wind is moaning 
in the chimney so much the better. ... A 
story which is 100 p. c. thrill." — Boston 
Record. 

m THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD 
By J. B. Harris-Burland 

An expedition into the Congo — a mys- 
terious death in an English village — 
the fatal prophecy that hung over a great 
English house — are joined in an un- 
usually baffling detective story. 

IV THE MIDDLE-TEMPLE MURDER 
By J. S. Fletcher 



THF 

MIDDLE TEMPLE 
MURDER 



BY 

J. S. FLETCHER 




NEW YORK 

ALFRED A- KNOPF 

MCMXIX 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc. 



Published, August, 1919 
Second Printing, September, 1919 









•9 d>-"' ). r^- 



PEUrt^D IN THE UNITED STATBS OF AMIBICA 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER P40E 

I THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER <> 

II HIS FIRST BRIEF 17 

in THE CLUE OF THE CAP 26 

IV THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 35 

V SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 44 

VI WITNESS Tb A MEETING 53 

VII MR. AYLMORE 62 

VIII THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 71 

IX THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 80 

X THE LEATHER BOX 89 

XI MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 98 

XII THE NEW WITNESS 107 

Xm UNDER SUSPICION 115 

XIV THE SILVER TICKET 123 

XV MARKET MILCASTER 132 

XVI THE ' ' YELLOW DRAGON ' ' 141 

XVn MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 150 

XVni AN OLD NEWSPAPER 159 

XIX THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY 167 

XX MAITLAND olias MARBURY 176 

XXI ARRESTED 184 

XXII THE BLANK PAST 193 



202 
209 
217 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER '^•*?? 

XXIII MISS BAYLIS 

XXIV MOTHER GUTCH 
XXV REVELATIONS 

XXVI STILL SILENT 225 

XXVn MR. ELPHICK 's CHAMBERS 233 

XXVm OF PROVED IDENTITY 241 

XXIX THE CLOSED DOORS 250 

XXX; REVELATION 259 

XXXI THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 268 

XXXn THE CONTENTS OP THE COFFIN 276 

XXXra FORESTALLED 285 

XXXIV THE WHIP HAND 294 

XXXV MYERST EXPLAINS 302 

XXXVI THE PINAL TELEGRAM 311 



THE MIDDLE 
TEMPLE MURDER 



CHAPTER ONE 

THE SCEAP OF GREY PAPER 

As a rule, Spargo left the Watchman oflSce at two 
'clock. The paper had then gone to press. There was 
nothing for him, recently promoted to a sub-editorship, 
to do after he had passed the column for which he was 
responsible ; as a matter of fact he could have gone home 
before the machines began their clatter. But he gen- 
erally hung about, trifling, until two o'clock came. On 
this occasion, the morning of the 22nd of June, 1912, 
he stopped longer than usual, chatting with Hacket, who 
had charge of the foreign news, and who began telling 
Mm about a telegram which had just come through from 
Durazzo. What Hacket had to tell was interesting: 
Spargo lingered to hear all about it, and to discuss it. 
Altogether it was well beyond half -past two when he went 
out of the office, unconsciously puffing away from him 
as he reached the threshold the last breath of the at- 
mosphere in which he had spent his midnight. In Fleet 
Street the air was fresh, almost to sweetness, and the 
first grey of the coming dawn was breaking faintly 
around the high silence of St. Paul's. 

Spargo lived in Bloomsbury, on the west side of Rus- 
sell Square. Every night and every morning he walked 
to and from the Watchman office by the same route — 
Southampton Row, Kingsway, the Strand, Fleet Street. 
He came to know several faces, especially amongst the 



10 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

police ; he formed the habit of exchanging greetings with 
various officers whom he encountered at regular points 
as he went slowly homewards, smoking his pipe. And 
on this morning, as he drew near to Middle Temple 
Lane, he saw a policeman whom he knew, one Driscoll, 
standing at the entrance, looking about him. Further 
away another policeman appeared, sauntering. Driscoll 
raised an arm and signalled; then, turning, he saw 
Spargo. He moved a step or two towards him. Spargo 
saw news in his face. 

"What is it?" asked Spargo. 

Driscoll jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards 
the partly open door of the lane. Within, Spargo saw 
a man hastily donning a waistcoat and jacket. 

"He says," answered Driscoll, "him, there — ^the 
porter — that there's a man lying in one of them entries 
down the lane, and he thinks he's dead. Likewise, he 
thinks he's murdered." 

Spargo echoed the word. 

"But what makes him think that?" he asked, peep- 
ing with curiosity beyond Driscoll 's burly form. 
"Why?" 

"He says there's blood about him," answered Dris- 
coll. He turned and glanced at the oncoming constable, 
and then turned again to Spargo. "You're a news- 
paper man, sir?" he suggested. 

"I am," replied Spargo. 

"You'd better walk down with us," said Driscoll, 
with a grin. "There'll be something to write pieces in 
the paper about. At least, there may be." Spargo 
made no answer. He continued to look down the lane, 



THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER 11 

wondering what secret it held, until the other policeman 
came up. At the same moment the porter, now fully 
clothed, came out. 

"Come on!" he said shortly. "I'll show you." 

DriscoU murmured a word or two to the newly-arrived 
constable, and then turned to the porter. 

"How came you to find him, then?" he asked 

The porter jerked his head at the door which they 
were leaving. 

"I heard that door slam," he replied, irritably, as if 
the fact which he mentioned caused him offence. "I 
know I did ! So I got up to look around. Then — well, 
I saw that!" 

He raised a hand, pointing down the lane. The three 
men followed his outstretched finger. And Spargo then 
saw a man's foot, booted, grey-socked, protruding from 
an entry on the left hand. 

' ' Sticking out there, just as you see it now, ' ' said the 
porter. "I ain't touched it. And so " 

He paused and made a grimace as if at the memory 
of some unpleasant thing. DriscoU nodded compre- 
hendingly. 

"And so you went along and looked?" he suggested. 
"Just so — just to see who it belonged to, as it might 
be.-" 

"Just to see — ^what there was to see," agreed the 
porter. "Then I saw there was blood. And then — 
well, I made up the lane to tell one of you chaps." 

"Best thing you could have done," said DriscoU. 
"Well, now then " 

The little procession came to a halt at the entry. 



12 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

The entry was a cold and formal thing of itself; not 
a nice place to lie dead in, having glazed white tiles 
for its walls and concrete for its flooring; something 
about its appearance in that grey morning air suggested 
to Spargo the idea of a mortuary. And that the man 
whose foot projected over the step was dead he had no 
doubt : the limpness of his pose certified to it. 

For a moment none of the four men moved or spoke. 
The two policemen unconsciously stuck their thumbs 
in their belts and made play with their fingers; the 
porter rubbed his chin thoughtfully — Spargo remem- 
bered afterwards the rasping sound of this action; he 
himself put his hands in his pockets and began to jingle 
his money and his keys. Each man had his own thoughts 
as he contemplated the piece of human wreckage which 
lay before him. 

"You'll notice," suddenly observed DriscoU, speak- 
ing in a hushed voice, "You'll notice that he's lying 
there in a queer way — ^same as if — ajs if he'd been put 
there. Sort of propped up against that wall, at first, 
and had slid down, like." 

Spargo was taking in all the details with a professional 
eye. He saw at his feet the body of an elderly man; 
the face was turned away from him, crushed in against 
the glaze of the wall, but he judged the man to be elderly 
because of grey hair and whitening whisker; it was 
clothed in a good, well-made suit of grey check cloth — 
tweed — and the boots were good: so, too, was the linen 
cuff which projected from the sleeve that hung so limply. 
One leg was half doubled under the body ; the other was 
stretched straight out across the threshold; the trunk 



THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER 13 

was twisted to the wall. Over the white glaze of the 
tiles against which it and the shoulder towards which it 
had sunk were crushed there were gouts and stains of 
blood. And Driscoll, taking a hand out of his belt, 
pointed a finger at them. 

"Seems to me," he said, slowly, "seems to me as how 
he's been struck down from behind as he came out of 
here. That blood's from his nose — gushed out as he 
fell. What do you say, Jim?" The other policeman 
coughed. 

"Better get the inspector here," he said. "And the 
doctor and the ambulance. Dead — ain't he?" 

Driscoll bent down and put a thumb on the hand 
which lay on the pavement. 

"As ever they make 'em," he remarked laconically. 
"And stiff, too. Well, hurry up, Jim!" 

Spargo waited until the inspector arrived; waited 
until the hand-ambulance came. More policemen came 
with it; they moved the body for transference to the 
mortuary, and Spargo then saw the dead man's face. 
He looked long and steadily at it while the police ar- 
ranged the limbs, wondering all the time who it was 
that he gazed at, how he came to that end, what was the 
object of his murderer, and many other things. There 
was some professionalism in Spargo 's curiosity, but 
there was also a natural dislike that a fellow-being should 
have been so unceremoniously smitten out of the world. 

There was nothing very remarkable about the dead 
man's face. It was that of a man of apparently sixty 
to sixty-five years of age ; plain, even homely of feature, 
clean-shaven, except for a fringe of white whisker. 



14 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

trimmed, after an old-fashioned pattern, between the 
ear and the point of the jaw. The only remarkable 
thing about it was that it was much lined and seamed; 
the wrinkles were many and deep around the corners of 
the lips and the angles of the eyes ; this man, you would 
have said to yourself, has led a hard life and weathered 
storm, mental as well as physical. 

Driscoll nudged Spargo with a turn of his elbow. He 
gave him a wink. "Better come down to the dead- 
house," he muttered confidentially. 

"Why?" asked SpargOv 

"They'll go through him," whispered Driscoll. 
"Search him, d'ye see? Then you 11 get to know all 
about him, and so on. Help to write that piece in the 
paper, eh?" 

Spargo hesitated. He had had a stiff night's work, 
and until his encounter with DriseoU he had cherished 
warm anticipation of the meal which would be laid out 
for him at his rooms, and of the bed into which he 
would subsequently tumble. Besides, a telephone mes- 
sage would send a man from the Watchman to the mor- 
tuary. This sort of thing was not in his line now, 
now 

"You'll be for getting one o' them big play-cards 
out with something about a mystery on it," suggested 
Driscoll. "You never know what lies at the bottom o' 
these affairs, no more you don't." 

That last observation decided Spargo; moreover, the 
old instinct for getting news began to assert itself. 

" All right, " he said. "I '11 go along with you. " 

And re-lighting his pipe he followed the little cor- 



THE SCRAP OF GREY PAPER 15 

tege through the streets, still deserted and quiet, and as 
he walked behind he reflected on the unobtrusive fashion 
in which murder could stalk about. Here was the work 
of murder, no doubt, and it was being quietly carried 
along a principal London thoroughfare, without fuss or 
noise, by officials to whom the dealing with it was all a 
matter of routine. Surely 

"My opinion," said a voice at Spargo's elbow, "my 
opinion is that it was done elsewhere. Not there! He 
was put there. That's what I say." Spargo turned 
and saw that the porter was at his side. He, too, was 
accompanying the ^ody. 

" Oh ! " said Sparge. ' ' You think ' ' 

"I think he was struck down elsewhere and carried 
there," said the porter. "In somebody's chambers, 
maybe. I've known of some queer games in our bit of 
London! Well! — he never oame in at my lodge last 
night — I'll stand to that. And who is he, I should like 
to know? From what I see of him, not the sort to be 
about our place." 

"That's what we shall hear presently," said Spargo. 
"They're going to search him." 

But Spargo was presently made aware that the search- 
ers had found nothing. The police-surgeon said that 
the dead man had, without doubt, been struck down from 
behind by a terrible blow which had fractured the skull 
and caused death almost instantaneously. In DriscoU's 
opinion, the murder had been committed for the sake 
of plunder. For there was nothing whatever on the 
body. It was reasonable to suppose that a man who is 
well dressed would possess a watch and chain, and have 



16 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

money in his pockets, and possibly rings on Ms fingers. 
But there was nothing valuable to be found ; in fact there 
was nothing at all to be found that could lead to identi- 
fication — no letters, no papers, nothing. It was plain 
that whoever had struck the dead man down had subse- 
quently stripped him of whatever was on him. The only 
clue to possible identity lay in the fact that a soft cap 
of grey cloth appeared to have been newly purchased at 
a fashionable shop in the West End. 

Spargo went home; there seemed to be nothing to 
stop for. He ate his food and he went to bed, only to 
do poor things in the way of sleepir. . He was not the 
sort to be impressed by horrors, but he recognized at 
last that the morning's event had destroyed his chance 
of rest; he accordingly rose, took a cold bath, drank a 
cup of coffee, and went out. He was not sure of any 
particular idea when he strolled away from Bloomsbury, 
but it did not surprise him when, half an hour later he 
found that he had walked down to the police station near 
which the unknown man's body lay in the mortuary. 
And there he met DriscoU, just going off duty. Dris- 
coll grinned at sight of him. 

"You're in luck," he said. " 'Tisn't five minutes 
since they found a bit of grey writing paper crumpled 
up in the poor man's waistcoat pocket— it had slipped 
into a crack. Come in, and you'll see it." 

Spargo went into the inspector's office. In another 
minute he found himself staring at the scrap of paper. 
There was nothing on it but an address, scrawled in 
pencil: — Ronald Breton, Barrister, King's Bench Walk, 
Temple, London. 



CHAPTER TWO 

HIS FIRST BRIEF 

Spargo looked up at the inspector with a quick jerk 
of his head. "I know this man," he said. 

The inspector showed new interest. 

"What, Mr. Breton?" he asked. 

"Yes. I'm on the Watchman, you know, sub-editor. 
I took an article from him the other day — article on 
'Ideal Sites for Campers-Out.' He came to the office 
about it. So this was in the dead man 's pocket ? ' ' 

"Found in a hole in his pocket, I understand : I wasn't 
present myself. It's not much, but it may afford some 
clue to identity." 

Spargo picked up the scrap of grey paper and looked 
closely at it. It seemed to him to be the sort of paper 
that is found in hotels and in clubs; it had been torn 
roughly from the sheet. 

"What," he asked meditatively, "what will yon do 
about getting this man identified?" 

The inspector shrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh, usual thing, I suppose. There'll be publicity, 
you know. I suppose you'll be doing a special account 
yourself, for your paper, eh? Then there'll be the 
others. And we shall put out the usual notice. Some- 
body will come forward to identify — sure to. And — " 

17 



18 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

A man came into the oflSce — a stolid-faced, quiet- 
mannered, soberly attired person, who might have been 
a respectable tradesman out for a stroll, and who gave 
the inspector a sidelong nod as he approached his desk, 
at the same time extending his hand towards the scrap 
of paper which Spargo had just laid down. 

"I'll go along to King's Bench Walk and see Mr. 
Breton," he observed, looking at his watch. "It's just 
about ten — I daresay he'll be there now." 

"I'm going there, too," remarked Spargo, but as if 
speaking to himself. "Yes, I'll go there." 

The newcomer glanced at Spargo, and then at the 
inspector. The inspector nodded at Spargo. 

"Journalist," he said, "Mr. Spargo of the Watchman. 
Mr. Spargo was there when the body was found. And 
he knows Mr. Breton." Then he nodded from Spargo 
to the stolid-faced person. "This is Detective-Sergeant 
Rathbury, from the Yard," he said to Spargo. "He's 
come to take charge of this case." 

" Oh ? " said Spargo blankly. ' ' I see— what, ' ' he went 
on, with sudden abruptness, "what shall you do about 
Breton?" 

"Get him to come and look at the body," replied 
Rathbury. "He may know the man and he mayn't 
Anyway, his name and address are here, aren't they?" 

"Come along," said Spargo. "I'll walk there with 
you." 

Spargft remained in a species of brown study all the 
way along Tudor Street ; his companion also maintained 
silence in a fashion which showed that he was by nature 
and custom a man of few words. It was not until the 



HIS FIRST BRIEF 19 

two were climbing the old balustrated staircase of the 
house in King's Bench Walk in which Ronald Breton's 
chambers were somewhere situate that Spargo spoke. 

"Do you think that old chap was killed for what he' 
may have had on him?" he asked, suddenly turning on 
the detective. 

"I should like to know what he had on him before 
I answered that question, Mr. Spargo," replied Rath- 
bury, with a smile. 

"Yes," said Spargo, dreamily. "I suppose so. He 
might have had — nothing on him, eh ? " 

The detective laughed, and pointed to a board on 
which names were printed. 

"We don't know anything yet, sir," he observed, 
"except that Mr. Breton is on the fourth floor. By 
which I conclude that it isn't long since he was eating 
his dinner." 

"Oh, he's young — he's quite young," said Spargo. 
' ' I should say he 's about f our-and-twenty. I 've met him 
only—" 

At that moment the unmistakable sounds of girlish 
laughter came down the staircase. Two girls seemed to 
bfr laughing — presently masculine laughter mingled with 
the lighter feminine. 

"Seems to be studying law in very pleasant fashion 
up here, anyway," said Rathbury. "Mr. Breton's 
chambers, too. And the door's open." 

The outer oak door of Ronald Breton's chambers stood 
thrown wide; the inner one was well ajar; through the 
opening thus made Spargo and the detective obtained a 
full view of the interior of Mr. Ronald Breton's rooms. 



20 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

There, against a background of law books, bundles of 
papers tied up with pink tape, and black-framed pictures 
of famous legal notabilities, they saw a pretty, vivacious- 
eyed girl, who, perched on a chair, wigged and gowned, 
and flourishing a mass of crisp paper, was haranguing 
an imaginary judge and jury, to the amusement of a 
young man who had his back to the door, and of another 
girl who leant confidentially against his shoulder. 

"I put it to you, gentlemen of the jury — I put it to 
you with confidence, feeling that you must be, must 
necessarily be, some, perhaps brothers, perhaps hus- 
bands, and fathers, can you, on your consciences do my 
client the great wrong, the irreparable injury, the — 
the " 

"Think of some more adjectives!" exclaimed the 
young man. "Hot and strong 'uns — pile 'em up. 
That's what they like— they— Hullo !" , 

This exclamation arose from the fact that at this point 
of the proceedings the detective rapped at the inner 
door, and then put his head round its edge. Where- 
upon the young lady who was orating from the chair, 
jumped hastily down; the other young lady withdrew 
from the young man's protecting arm; there was a fem- 
inine giggle and a feminine swishing of skirts, and a 
hasty bolt into an inner room, and Mr. Ronald Breton 
came forward, blushing a little, to greet the interrupter. 

"Come in, come in!" he exclaimed hastily. "I " 

Then he paused, catching sight of Sparge, and held 
out his hand with a look of surprise. 

"Oh— Mr. Spargo?" he said. "How do you do? — 
we — I — we were just having a lark — I'm off to court 



HIS FIRST BRIEF 21 

in a few minutes. What can I do for you, Mr. Sparge ? ' ' 

He had backed to the inner door as he spoke, and he 
now closed it and turned again to the two men, looking 
from one to the other. The detective, on his part, was 
looking at the young barrister. He saw a tall, slimly- 
built youth, of handsome features and engaging pres- 
ence, perfectly groomed, and immaculately garbed, and 
having upon him a general air of well-to-do-ness, and he 
formed the impression from these matters that Mr. 
Breton was one of those fortunate young men who may 
take up a profession but are certainly not dependent 
upon it. He turned and glanced at the journalist. 

' ' How do you do ? " said Spargo slowly. ' ' I — the fact 
is, I came here with Mr. Rathbury. He — ^wants to see 
you. Detective-Sergeant Rathbury — of New Scotland 
Yard." 

Spargo pronounced this formal introduction as if he 
were repeating a lesson. But he was watching the young 
barrister's face. And Breton turned to the detective 
with a look of surprise. 

"Oh?" he said. "You wish^ " 

Rathbury had been fumbling in his pocket for the 
scrap of grey paper, which he had carefully bestowed in 
a much- worn memorandum-book. "I wished to ask a 
question, Mr. Breton," he said. "This morning, about 
a quarter to three, a man — elderly man — ^was found dead 
in Middle Temple Lane, and there seems little doubt 
that he was murdered. Mr. Spargo here — he was pres- 
ent when the body was found." 

"Soon after," corrected Spargo. "A few minutes 
after." 



22 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"When this body was examined at the mortuary," 
continued Rathbury, in his matter-of-fact, buSiness-like 
tones, "nothing was found that could lead to identifica- 
tion. The man appears to have been robbed. There 
was nothing whatever on him — but this bit of torn paper, 
which was found in a hole in the lining of his waistcoat 
pocket. It's got your name and address on it, Mr. 
Breton. See?" 

Ronald Breton took the scrap of paper and looked at 
it with knitted brows. 

"By Jove!" he muttered. "So it has; that's queer. 
What's he like, this man?" 

Rathbury glanced at a clock which stood on the man- 
telpiece. 

"Will you step round and take a look at him, Mr. 
Breton ? " he said. " It 's close by . " 

"Well — I — ^the fact is, I've got a case on, in Mr. Jus- 
tice Borrow 's court," Breton answered, also glancing 
at his clock. "But it won't be called until after eleven. 
Will " 

"Plenty of time, sir," said Rathbury; "it won't take 
you ten minutes to go round and back again — a look 
will do. You don't recognize this handwriting, I sup- 
pose?" 

Breton still held the scrap of paper in his fingers. 
He looked at it again, intently. 

"No!" he answered. "I don't. I don't know it at 
all — I can't think, of course, who this man could be, to 
have my name and address. I thought he might have 
been some country solicitor, wanting my professional 
services, you know," he went on, with a shy smile at 



HIS FIRST BRIEF 23 

Spargo; "but, three — three o'clock in the morning, eh?" 

"The doctor," observed Rathbury, "the doctor thinks 
he had been dead about two and a half hours. ' ' 

Breton turned to the inner door. 

"I'll — I'll just tell these ladies I'm going out for a 
quarter of an hour," he said. "They're going over to 
the court with me — I got my first brief yesterday," he 
went on with a boyish laugh, glancing right and left at 
his visitors. "It's nothing much — small case — but I 
promised my fiancee and her sister that they should be 
present, you know. A moment. ' ' 

He disappeared into the next room and came back a 
moment later in all the glory of a new silk hat. Spargo, 
a young man who was never very particular about his 
dress, began to contrast his own attire with the butterfly 
appearance of this youngster; he had been quick to no- 
tice that the two girls who had whisked into the inner 
room had been similarly garbed in fine raiment, more 
characteristic of Mayfair than of Fleet Street. Already 
he felt a strange curiosity about Breton, and about the 
young ladies whom he heard talking behind the inner 
door. 

"Well, eome on," said Breton. "Let's go straight 
there." 

The mortuary to which Rathbury led the way was 
cold, drab, repellent to the general gay sense of the 
summer morning. Spargo shivered involuntarily as he 
entered it and took a first glance around. But the young 
barrister showed no sign of feeling or concern ; he looked 
quickly about him and stepped alertly to the side of 
the dead man, from whose face the detective was turn- 



24 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

ing back a cloth. He looked steadily and earnestly at 
the fixed features. Then he drew back, shaking his head. 

"No!" he said with decision. "Don't know him— 
don't know him from Adam. Never set eyes on him in 
my life, that I know of." 

Rathbury replaced the cloth. 

"I didn't suppose you would," he remarked. "Well, 
I expect we must go on the usual lines. Somebody '11 
identify him." 

"You say he was murdered?" said Breton. "Is that 
— certain ? ' ' 

Rathbury jerked his thumb at the corpse. 

"The back of his skull is smashed in," he said la- 
conically. "The doctor says he must have been struck 
down from behind — and a fearful blow, too. I'm much 
obliged to you, Mr. Breton." 

"Oh, all right!" said Breton. "Well, you know 
where to find me if you want me. I shall be curious 
about this. Good-bye — good-bye, Mr. Spargo. ' ' 

The young barrister hurried away, and Rathbury 
turned to the journalist. 

"I didn't expect anything from that," he remarked. 
"However, it was a thing to be done. You are going 
to write about this for your paper?" 

Spargo nodded. 

"Well," continued Rathbury, "I've sent a man to 
Fiskie's, the hatter's, where that cap came from, you 
know. We may get a bit of information from that 
quarter— it's possible. If you like to meet me here at 
twelve o'clock I'll tell you anything I've heard. Just 
now I'm going to get some breakfast." 



HIS FIRST BRIEF 25 

"I'll meet you here," said Spargo, "at twelve 
o'clock." 

He watched Rathbury go away round one corner; he 
himself suddenly set off round another. He went to 
the Watchman office, wrote a few lines, which he en- 
closed in an envelope for the day-editor, and went out 
again. Somehow or other, his feet led him up Fleet 
Street, and before he quite realized what he was doing 
he found himself turning into the Law Courts. 



CHAPTER THREE 

THE CLUE OF THE CAP 

Having no clear conception of what had led him to 
these scenes of litigation, Spargo went wandering aim- 
lessly about in the great hall and the adjacent corridors 
until an official, who took him to be lost, asked him if 
there was any particular part of the building he wanted. 
For a moment Spargo stared at the man as if he did not 
comprehend his question. Then his mental powers re- 
asserted themselves. 

"Isn't Mr. Justice Borrow sitting in one of the courts 
this morning ? " he suddenly asked. 

"Number seven," replied the official. "What's your 
ease — when's it down?" 

"I haven't got a case," said Spa-rgo. "I'm a press- 
man — reporter, you know." 

The official stuck out a finger. 

"Round the corner— first to your right — second on the 
left," he said automatically. "You'll find plenty of 
room — ^nothing much doing there this morning." 

He turned away, and Spargo recommenced his appar- 
ently aimless perambulation of the dreary, depressing 
corridors. 

"Upon my honour!" he muttered. "Upon my hon- 

26 



THE CLUE OF THE CAP 27 

our, I really don't know what I've come up here for. 
I've no business here." 

Just then he turned a comer and came face to face 
with Ronald Breton. The young barrister was now in 
his wig and gown and carried a bundle of papers tied up 
with pink tape ; he was escorting two young ladies, who 
were laughing and chattering as they tripped along at 
his side. And Spargo, glancing at them meditatively, 
instinctively told himself which of them it was that he 
and Rathbury had overheard as she made her burlesque 
speech : it was not the elder one, who walked by Ronald 
Breton with something of an air of proprietorship, but 
the younger, the girl with the laughing eyes and the 
vivacious smile, and it suddenly dawned upon him that 
somewhere, deep within him, there had been a notion, a 
hope of seeing this girl again — why, he could not then 
think. 

Spargo, thus coming face to face with these three, 
mechanically lifted his hat. Breton stopped, half in- 
quisitive. His eyes seemed to ask a question. 

"Yes," said Spargo. "I — the fact is, I remembered 
that you said you were coming up here, and I came after 
you. I want — when you've time — to have a talk, to ask 
you a few questions. About — this affair of the dead 
man, you know. ' ' 

Breton nodded. He tapped Spargo on the arm. 

"Look here," he said. "When this case of mine is 
over, I can give you as much time as you like. Can you 
wait a bit? Yes? Well, I say, do me a favour. I was 
taking these ladies round to the gallery — round there, 
and up the stairs — and I'm a bit pressed for time — I've 



28 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

a solicitor waiting for me. You take them— there 's a 
good fellow; then, when the case is over, bring them 
down here, and you and I will talk. Here— I '11 intro- 
duce you all — no ceremony. Miss Aylmore — Miss Jessie 
Aylmore. Mr. Spargo — of the Waichman. Now, I'm 
off!" Breton turned on the instant; his gown whisked 
round a comer, and Spargo found himself staring at two 
smiling girls. He saw then that both were pretty and 
attractive, and that one seemed to be the elder by some 
three or four years. 

"That is very cool of Ronald," observed the elder 
young lady. "Perhaps his scheme doesn't fit in with 
yours, Mr. Spargo? Pray don't " 

"Oh, it's all right!" said Spargo, feeling himself un- 
commonly stupid. "I've nothing to do. But — where 
did Mr. Breton say you wished to be taken ? ' ' 

"Into the gallery of number seven court," said the 
younger girl promptly. "Round this comer — I think 
I know the way." 

Spargo, still marvelling at the rapidity with which 
affairs were moving that morning, bestirred himself to 
act as cicerone, and presently led the two young ladies 
to the very front of one of those public galleries from 
which idlers and specially-interested spectators may see 
and hear the proceedings which -obtain in the badly- ven- 
tilated, ill-lighted tanks wherein justice is dispensed at 
the Law Courts. There was no one else in that gallery ; 
the attendant in the corridor outside seemed to be vastly 
amazed that any one should wish to enter it, and he 
presently opened the door, beckoned to Spargo, and came 
half-way down the stairs to meet him. 



THE CLUE OF THE CAP 29 

"Nothing much going on here this morning," he 
■whispered behind a raised hand. "But there's a nice 
breach case in number five — get you three good seats 
there if you like." 

Spargo declined this tempting offer, and went back 
to his charges. He had decided by that time that Miss 
Aylmore was about twenty-three, and her sister about 
eighteen ; he also thought that young Breton was a lucky 
dog to be in possession of such a charming future wife 
and an equally charming sister-in-law. And he dropped 
into a seat at Miss Jessie Aylmore 's side, and looked 
around him as if he were much awed by his surroundings. 

"I suppose one can talk until the judge enters?" he 
whispered. "Is this really Mr. Breton's first case?" 

"His very first — all on his own responsibility, any 
way," replied Spargo 's companion, smiling. "And 
he's very nervous — and so's my sister. Aren't you, now, 
Evelyn?" 

Evelyn Aylmore looked at Spargo, and smiled 
quietly. 

"I suppose one's always nervous about first appear- 
ances," she said. "However, I think Ronald's got 
plenty of confidence, and, as he says, it's not much of a 
case: it isn't even a jury case. I'm afraid you'll find 
it dull, Mr. Spargo — it's only something about a prom- 
issory note." 

"Oh, I'm aU right, thank you," replied Spargo, un- 
consciously falling back on a favourite formula. "I 
always like to hear lawyers — they manage to say such a 
lot about — about " 

"About nothing," said Jessie Aylmore. "But there 



30 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

— so do gentlemen who write for the papers, don't 
they?" 

Spargo was about to admit that there was a good deal 
to be said on that point when Miss Aylmore suddenly 
drew her sister's attention to a man who had just en- 
tered the well of the court. 

"Look, Jessie!" she observed. "There's Mr. El- 
phick!" 

Spargo looked down at the person indicated: an 
elderly, large-faced, smooth-shaven man, a little inclined 
to stoutness, who, wigged and gowned, was slowly mak- 
ing his way to a corner seat just outside that charmed 
inner sanctum wherein only King's Counsel are per- 
mitted to sit. He dropped into this in a fashion which 
showed that he was one of those men who loved personal 
comfort ; he bestowed his plump person at the most con- 
venient angle and fitting a monocle in his right eye, 
glanced around him. There were a few of his profes- 
sional brethren in his vicinity ; there were half a dozen 
solicitors and their clerks in conversation with one or 
other of them ; there were court oflScials. But the gentle- 
man of the monocle swept all these with an indifferent 
look and cast his eyes upward until he caught sight of 
the two girls. Thereupon he made a most gracious bow 
in their direction; his broad face beamed in a genial 
smile, and he waved a white hand. 

"Do you know Mr. Elphick, Mr. Spargo?" enquired 
the younger Miss Aylmore. 

"I rather think I've seen him, somewhere about the 
Temple, ' ' answered Spargo. ' ' In fact, I 'm sure I have. ' ' 

"His chambers are in Paper Buildings," said Jessie. 



THE CLUE OF THE CAP 31 

"Sometimes he gives tea-parties in them. He is Ron- 
ald's guardian, and preceptor, and mentor, and all that, 
and I suppose he's dropped into this court to hear how 
his pupil goes on." 

"Here is Ronald," whispered Miss Aylmore. 

"And here," said her sister, "is his lordship, looking 
very cross. Now, Mr. Spargo, you're in for it." 

Spargo, to tell the truth, paid little attention to what 
went on beneath him. The case which young Breton 
presently opened was a commercial one, involving cer- 
tain rights and properties in a promissory note; it 
seemed to the journalist that Breton dealt with it very 
well, showing himself master of the financial details, and 
speaking with readiness and assurance. He was much 
more interested in his companions, and especially in the 
younger one, and he was meditating on how he could im- 
prove his further acquaintance when he awoke to the 
fact that the defence, realizing that it stood no chance, 
had agreed to withdraw, and that Mr. Justice Borrow 
was already giving judgment in Ronald Breton's favour. 
In another minute he was walking out of the gallery in 
rear of the two sisters. 

"Very good — very good, indeed," he said, absent- 
mindedly. "I thought he put his facts very clearly 
and concisely." 

Downstairs, in the corridor, Ronald Breton was talk- 
ing to Mr. Elphick. He pointed a finger at Spargo as 
the latter came up with the girls : Spargo gathered that 
Breton was speaking of the murder and of his, Spargo 's, 
connection with it. And directly they approached, he 
spoke. 



32 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"This is Mr. Spargo, sub-editor of the Watchman," 
Breton said. "Mr. Elphick — Mr. Spargo. I was just 
telling Mr. Elphick, Spargo, that you saw this poor man 
soon after he was found." 

Spargo, glancing at Mr. Elphick, saw that he was 
deeply interested. The elderly barrister took him — 
literally — ^by the button-hole. 

"My dear sir!" he said. "You — saw this poor fel- 
low? Lying dead — ^in the third entry down Middle 
Temple Lane? The third entry, eh?" 

" Yes, " replied Spargo, simply. "I saw him. It was 
the third entry. ' ' 

"Singular!" said Mr. Elphick, musingly. "I know 
a man who lives in that house. In fact, I visited him last 
night, and did not leave until nearly midnight. And 
this unfortunate man had Mr. Ronald Breton's name 
and address in his pocket?" 

Spargo nodded. He looked at Breton, and pulled out 
his watch. Just then he had no idea of playing the part 
of informant to Mr. Elphick. 

"Yes, that's so," he answered shortly. Then, looking 
at Breton significantly, he added, "If you can give me 
those few minutes, now ?" 

"Yes— yes!" responded Ronald Breton, nodding. 
"I understand. EveljTi— I'll leave you and Jessie to 
Mr. Elphick: I must go." 

Mr. Elphick seized Spargo once more. 

"My dear sir!" he said, eagerly. "Do you— do you 
think I could possibly see — the body ? ' ' 

"It's at the mortuary," answered Spargo. "I don't 
know what their regulations are." 



THE CLUE OF THE CAP 33 

Then he escaped with Breton. They had crossed Fleet 
Street and were in the quieter shades of the Temple be- 
fore Spargo spoke. 

"About what I wanted to say to you," he said at last. 
"It was — this. I — ^well, I've always wanted, as a jour- 
nalist, to have a real big murder case. I think this is one. 
I want to go right into it — thoroughly, first and last. 
And — I think you can help me." 

"How do you know that it is a murder case?" asked 
Breton quietly. 

"It's a murder case," answered Spargo, stolidly. 
"I feel it. Instinct, perhaps. I'm going to ferret out 
the truth. And it seems to me " 

He paused and gave his companion a sharp glance. 

"It seems to me," he presently continued, "that the 
clue lies in that scrap of paper. That paper and that 
man are connecting links between you and — somebody 
else." 

"Possibly," agreed Breton. "You want to find the 
somebody else?" 

"I want you to help me to find the somebody else," 
answered Spargo. "I believe this is a big, very big af- 
fair: I want to do it. I don't believe in police methods 
— ^much. By the by, I'm just going to meet Eathbury. 
He may have heard of something. Would you like to 
come?" 

Breton ran into his chambers in King's Bench Walk, 
left his gown and wig, and walked round with Spargo to 
the police oflSce. Rathbury came out as they were step- 
ping in. 

"Oh!" he said. "Ah! — I've got what may be help- 



34 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

ful; Mr. Spargo. I told you I'd sent a man to Fiskie's, 
the hatter? Well, he's just returned. The cap which 
the dead man was wearing was bought at Fiskie's yester- 
day afternoon, and it was sent to Mr. Marbury, Room 20, 
at the Anglo-Orient Hotel." 

"Where is that?" asked Spargo. 

"Waterloo district," answered Rathbury. "A small 
house, I believe. Well, I'm going there. Are you com- 
ing?" 

"Yes," replied Spargo. "Of course. And Mr. 
Breton wants to come, too." 

"If I'm not in the way," said Breton. 

Rathbury laughed. 

"Well, we may find out something about this scrap of 
paper, ' ' he observed. And he waved a signal to the near- 
est taxi-cab driver. 



CHAPTER POUE 

THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 

The house at which Spargo and his eompauions pres- 
ently drew up was an old-fashioned place in the imme- 
diate vicinity of Waterloo Railway Station — a plain- 
fronted, four-square erection, essentially mid- Victorian 
in appearance, and suggestive, somehow, of the very early 
days of railway travelling. Anything more in contrast 
with the modem ideas of a hotel it would have been dif- 
ficult to find in London, and Ronald Breton said so as 
he and the others crossed the pavement. 

"And yet a good many people used to favour this 
place on their way to and from Southampton in the old 
days," remarked Rathbury. "And I daresay that old 
travellers, coming back from the East after a good many 
years' absence, still rush in here. You see, it's close to 
the station, and travellers have a knack of walking into 
the nearest place when they've a few thousand miles of 
steamboat and railway train behind them. Look there, 
now?" 

They had crossed the threshold as the detective spoke, 
and as they entered a square, heavily-furnished hall, he 
made a sidelong motion of his head towards a bar on the 
left, wherein stood or lounged a number of men who 
from their general appearance, their slouched hats, aud 

35 



36 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

their bronzed faces appeared to be Colonials, or at any 
rate to have spent a good part of their time beneath 
Oriental skies. There was a murmur of tongues that 
had a Colonial accent in it; an aroma of tobacco that 
suggested Sumatra and Trichinopoly, and Rathbury 
wagged his head sagely. "Lay you anything the dead 
man was a Colonial, Mr. Spargo," he remarked. "Well, 
now, I suppose that's the landlord and landlady." 

There was an office facing them, at the rear of the hall, 
and a man and woman were regarding them from a box 
window which opened above a ledge on which lay a 
register book. They were middle-aged folk: the man, 
a fleshy, round-faced, somewhat pompous-looking in- 
dividual, who might at some time have been a butler; 
the woman a tail, spare-figured, thin-featured, sharp- 
eyed person, who examined the newcomers with an en- 
quiring gaze. Rathbury went up to them with easy con- 
fidence. 

"You the landlord of this house, sir?" he asked. 
"Mr. Walters? Just so — and Mrs. Walters, I pre- 
sume ? ' ' 

The landlord made a stiff bow and looked sharply at 
his questioner. 

"What can I do for you, sir?" he enquired. 

"A little matter of business, Mr. Walters," replied 
Rathbury, pulling out a card. "You'll see there who 
I am— Detective-Sergeant Rathbury, of the Yard. This 
is Mr. Prank Spargo, a newspaper man; this is Mr. 
Ronald Breton, a barrister. ' ' 

The landlady, hearing their names and description, 
pointed to a side door, and signed Rathbury and his 



THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 37 

companions to pass through. Obeying her pointed 
finger, they found themselves in a small private parlour. 
"Walters closed the two doors which led into it and looked 
at his principal visitor. 

"What is it, Mr. Rathbury?" he enquired. "Any- 
thing wrong ? ' ' 

"We want a bit of information," answered Rathbury, 
almost with indifference. 

" Did anybody of the name of Marbury put up here 
yesterday — elderly man, grey hair, fresh complexion?" 

Mrs. Walters started, glancing at her husband. 

"There!" she exclaimed. "I knew some enquiry 
would be made. Yes — a Mr. Marbury took a room here 
yesterday morning, just after the noon train got in from 
Southampton. Number 20 he took. But — he didn't 
use it last night. He went out — very late — and he never 
came back." 

Rathbury nodded. Answering a sign from the land- 
lord, he took a chair and, sitting down, looked at Mrs. 
Walters. 

"What made you think some enquiry would be made, 
ma'am?" he asked. "Had you noticed anything?" 

Mrs. Walters seemed a little confused by this direct 
question. Her husband gave vent to a species of growl. 

"Nothing to notice," he muttered. "Her way of 
speaking — that's all." 

"Well — why I said that was this," said the landlady. 
"He happened to tell us, did Mr. Marbury, that he 
hadn't been in London for over twenty years, and 
couldn 't remember anything about it, him, he said, never 
having known much about London at any time. And, 



38 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

of course, when he went out so late and never came back, 
why, naturally, I thought something had happened to 
hii^ and that there 'd be enquiries made." 

"Just so— just so!" said Rathbury. "So you would, 
ma'am — so you would. Well, something has happened 
to him. He's dead. What's more, there's strong rea- 
son to think. he was murdered." 

Mr. and Mrs. Walters received this announcement 
with proper surprise and horror, and the landlord sug- 
gested a little refreshment to his visitors. Spargo and 
Breton declined, on the ground that they had work to do 
during the afternoon; Rathbury accepted it, evidently 
as a matter of course. 

"My respects," he said, lifting his glass. ''Well, 
now, perhaps you'll just tell me what you know of this 
man? I may as well tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Walters, 
that he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane this 
morning, at a quarter to three; that there wasn't any- 
thing on him but his clothes and a scrap of paper which 
bore this gentleman's name and address; that this gentle- 
man knows nothing whatever of him, and that I traced 
him here because he bought a cap at a West End hat- 
ter's yesterday, and had it sent to your hotel." 

"Yes," said Mrs. Walters quickly, "that's so. And 
he went out in that cap last night. Well — ^we don't 
know much about him. As I said, he came in here about 
a quarter past twelve yesterday morning, and booked 
Number 20. He had a porter with him that brought a 
trunk and a bag— they're in 20 now, of course. He told 
me that he had stayed at this house over twenty years 
ago, on his way to Australiar— that, of course, was long 



THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 39 

before we took it. And he signed his name in the book 
as John Marbury." 

"We'll look at that, if you please," said Rathbury. 

Walters fetched in the register and turned the leaf to 
the previous day's entries. They all bent over the dead 
man's writing. 

" 'John Marbury, Coolumbideee, New South Wales,' " 
said Rathbury. "Ah — ^now I was wondering if that 
writing would be the same £is that on the scrap of paper, 
Mr. Breton. But, you see, it isn't — it's quite different. ' ' 

"Quite different," said Breton. He, too, was regard- 
ing the handwriting with great interest. And Rath- 
bury noticed his keen inspection of it, and asked another 
question. 

"Ever seen that writing before?" he suggested. 

"Never," answered Breton. "And yet — there's 
something very familiar about it." 

"Then the probability is that you have seen it before," 
remarked Rathbury. "Well — now we'll hear a little 
more about Marbury 's doings here. Just tell me all 
you know, Mr. and Mrs. Walters. ' ' 

"My wife knows most," said Walters. "I scarcely 
saw the man — I don't remember speaking with him." 

" No, " said Mrs. Walters. ' ' You didn 't — you weren 't 
much in his way. Well," she continued, "I showed him 
up to his room. He talked a bit — said he'd just landed 
at Southampton from Melbourne. ' ' 

"Did he mention his ship?" asked Rathbury. "But 
if he didn't, it doesn't matter, for we can find out." 

"I believe the name's on his thtags," answered the 
landlady. "There are some labels of that sort. Well, 



40 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

he asked for a chop to be cooked for him at once, as he 
was going out. He had his chop, and he went out at 
exactly one o'clock, saying to me that he expected he'd 
get lost, as he didn't know London well at any time, and 
shouldn 't know it at all now. He went outside there — 
I saw him — looked about him and walked oE towards 
Blackfriars way. During the afternoon the cap you 
spoke of came for him — from Fiskie's. So, of course, 
I judged he'd been Piccadilly way. But he himself 
never came in until ten o'clock. And then he brought a 
gentleman with him." 

"Aye?" said Rathbury. "A gentleman, now? Did 
you see him?" 

"Just," replied the landlady. "They went straight 
up to 20, and I just caught a mere glimpse of the gentle- 
man as they turned up the stairs. A tall, well-built 
gentleman, with a grey beard, very well dressed as far 
as I could see, with a top hat and a white silk muffler 
round his throat, and carrying an umbrella." 

"And they went to Marbury's room?" said Rathbury. 
"What then?" 

"Well, then, Mr. Marbury rang for some whiskey and 
soda," continued Mrs. Walters. "He was particular to 
have a decanter of whiskey : that, and a syphon of soda 
were taken up there. I heard nothing more until nearly 
midnight; then the hall-porter told me that the gentle- 
man in 20 had gone out, and had asked him if there was 
a night-porter — as, of course, there is. He went out at 
half -past eleven." 

"And the other gentleman?" asked Rathbury. 



THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 41 

"The other gentleman," answered the landlady, 
"went out with him. The hall-porter said they turned 
towards the station. And that was the last anybody 
in this house saw of Mr. Marbury. He certainly never 
came back. ' ' 

"That," observed Rathbury with a quiet smile, "that 
is quite certain, ma'am? "Well — I suppose we'd better 
see this Number 20 room, and have a look at what he left 
there." 

"Everything," said Mrs. "Walters, "is just as he left 
it. Nothing's been touched." 

It seemed to two of the visitors that there was little to 
touch. On the dressing-table lay a few ordinary articles 
of toilet — none of them of any quality or value : the dead 
man had evidently been satisfied with the plain necessi- 
ties of life. An overcoat hung from a peg: Rathbury, 
without ceremony, went through its pockets ; just as un- 
ceremoniously he proceeded to examine trunk and bag, 
and finding both unlocked, he laid out on the bed every 
article they contained and examined each separately and 
carefully. And he found nothing whereby he could 
gather any clue to the dead owner's identity. 

' ' There you are ! " he said, making an end of his task. 
"You see, it's just the same with these things as with 
the clothes he had on him. There are no papers — 
there's nothing to tell who he was, what he was after, 
where he'd come from — ^though that we may find out in 
other ways. But it's not often that a man travels with- 
out some clue to his identity. Beyond the fact that 
some of this linen was, you see, bought in Melbourne, we 



42 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

know nothing of him. Yet he must have had papers and 
money on him. Did you see anything of his money, now, 
ma'am?" he asked, suddenly turning to Mrs. Walters. 
"Did he pull out his purse in your presence, now?" 

"Yes," answered the landlady, with promptitude. 
"He came into the bar for a drink after he'd been up 
to his room. He pulled out a handful of gold when he 
paid for it— a whole handful. There must have been 
some thirty to forty sovereigns and half-sovereigns." 

"And he hadn't a penny piece on him— when found," 
muttered Rathburj'. 

"I noticed another thing, too," remarked the land- 
lady. "He was wearing a very fine gold watch and 
chain, and had a splendid ring on his left hand — ^little 
finger — gold, with a big diamond in it." 

"Yes," said the detective, thoughtfully, "I noticed 
that he'd worn a ring, and that it had been a bit tight 
for him. Well — now there's only one thing to ask about. 
Did your chambermaid notice if he left any torn paper 
around — tore any letters up, or anything like that?" 

But the chambermaid, pi^oduced, had not noticed any- 
thing of the sort; on the contrary, the gentleman of 
Number 20 had left his room very tidy indeed. So 
Rathbury intimated that he had no more to ask, and 
nothing further to say, just then, and he bade the land- 
lord and landlady of the Anglo-Orient Hotel good morn- 
ing, and went away, followed by the two young men. 

"What next?" asked Spargo, as they gained the 
street. 

"The next thing," answered Rathbury, "is to find 
the man with whom Marbury left this hotel last night." 



THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL 43 

"And how's that to be done?" asked Spargo. 
"At present," replied Bathbury, "I don't know." 
And with a careless nod, he walked off, apparently de- 
sirous of being alone. 



CHAPTER FIVE 

SPAEGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 

The barrister and the journalist, left thus uncere- 
moniously on a crowded pavement, looked at each other. 
Breton laughed. 

"We don't seem to have gained much information," 
he remarked. "I'm about as wise as ever." 

"No — ^wiser," said Spargo. "At any rate, I am. I 
know now that this dead man called himself John Mar- 
bury ; that he came from Australia ; that he only landed 
at Southampton yesterday morning, and that he was in 
the company last night of a man whom we have had de- 
scribed to us — a tall, grey-bearded, well-dressed man, 
presumably a gentleman. ' ' 

Breton shrugged his shoulders. 

"I should say that description would fit a hundred 
thousand men in London, ' ' he remarked. 

' ' Exactly — so it would, ' ' answered Spargo. ' ' But we 
know that it was one of the hundred thousand, or half- 
million, if you like. The thing is to find that one — ^the 
one. ' ' 

"And you think you can do it?" 

"I think I'm going to have a big try at it." 

Breton shrugged his shoulders again. 

44 



SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 45 

"What? — by going up to every man who answers the 
description, and saying 'Sir, are you the man who ac- 
companied John Marbury to the Agio " 

Spargo suddenly interrupted him. 

"Look here!" he said. "Didn't you say that you 
knew a man who lives in that block in the entry of which 
Marbury was found?" 

"No, I didn't," answered Breton. "It was Mr. 
Elphick who said that. All the same, I do know that 
man — he's Mr. Cardlestone, another barrister. He and 
Mr. Elphick £tre friends — they're both enthusiastic 
philatelists — stamp collectors, you know — and I dare 
say Mr. Elphick was round there last night examining 
something new Cardlestone 's got hold of. Why?" 

"I'd like to go round there and make some enquiries," 
replied Spargo. "If you'd be kind enough to " 

"Oh, I'll go with you!" responded Breton, with 
alacrity. "I'm just as keen about this business as you 
are, Spargo! I want to know who this man Marbury 
is, and how he came to have my name and address on 
him. Now, if I had been a well-known man in my pro- 
fession, you know, why — " 

"Yes," said Spargo, as they got into a cab, "yes, that 
would have explained a lot. It seems to me that we'll 
get at the murderer through that scrap of paper a lot 
quicker than through Rathbury's line. Yes, that's what 
I think." 

Breton looked at his companion with interest. 

"But — ^you don't know what Rathbury's line is," he 
remarked. 

"Yes, I do," said Spargo. "Rathbury's gone off to 



46 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

discover who the man is with whom Marbury left the 
Anglo-Orient Hotel last night. That's his line." 

"And you want ?" 

"I want to find out the full significance of that bit of 
paper, and who wrote it," answered Spargo. "I want 
to know why that old man was coming to you when he 
was murdered." 

Breton started. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "I — I never thought of 
that. You — ^you really think he was coming to me when 
he was struck down ? ' ' 

"Certain. Hadn't he got an address in the Temple? 
Wasn't he in the Temple? Of course, he was trying to 
find you. ' ' 

"But— the late hour?" 

"No matter. How else can you explain his presence 
in the Temple? I think he was asking his way. That's 
why I want to make some enquiries in this block." 

It appeared to Spargo that a considerable number of 
people, chiefly of the office-boy variety, were desirous 
of making enquiries about the dead man. Being 
luncheon-hour, that bit of Middle Temple Lane where 
the body was found, was thick with the inquisitive and 
the sensation-seeker, for the news of the murder had 
spread, and though there was nothing to see but the bare 
stones on which the body had lain, there were more open 
mouths and staring eyes around the entry than Spargo 
had seen for many a day. And the nuisance had be- 
come so great that the occupants of the adjacent cham- 
bers had sent for a policeman to move the curious away, 
and when Spargo and his companion presented them- 



SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 47 

selves at the entry this policeman was being lectured as 
to his duties by a little weazen-faced gentleman, in very 
snuffy and old-fashioned garments, and an ancient silk 
hat, who was obviously greatly exercised by the un- 
wonted commotion. 

"Drive them all out into the street!" exclaimed this 
personage. "Drive them all away, constable — into 
Fleet Street or upon the Embankment — anywhere, so 
long as you rid this place of them. This is a disgrace, 
and an inconvenience, a nuisance, a " 

"That's old Cardlestone, " whispered Breton. "He's 
always irascible, and I don't suppose we'll get anything 
out of him- Mr. Cardlestone," he continued, making 
his way up to the old gentleman who was now retreating 
up the stone steps, brandishing an umbrella as ancient 
as himself. "I was just coming to see you, sir. This is 
Mr. Spargo, a journalist, who is much interested in this 
murder. He " 

"I know nothing about the murder, my dear sir!" ex- 
claimed Mr. Cardlestone. "And I never talk to journal- 
ists — a pack of busybodies, sir, saving your presence. I 
am not aware that any murder has been committed, and 
I object to my doorway being filled by a pack of office 
boys and street loungers. Murder indeed! I suppose 
the man fell down these steps and broke his neck — drunk, 
most likely." 

He opened his outer door as he spoke, and Breton, 
with a reassuring smile and a nod at Spargo, followed 
him into his chambers on the first landing, motioning the 
journalist, to keep at their heels. 

"Mr. Elphick tells me that he was with you until a 



48 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

late hour last evening, Mr. Cardlestone, " he said. "Of 
course, neither of you heard anything suspicious?" 

"What should we hear that was suspicious in the 
Temple, sir?" demanded Mr. Cardlestone, angrily. 
"I hope the Temple is free from that sort of thing, young 
Mr. Breton. Your respected guardian and myself had 
a quiet evening on our usual peaceful pursuits, and 
when he went away all was as quiet as the grave, sir. 
What may have gone on in the chambers above and 
around me I know not! Fortunately, our walls are 
thick, sir — ^substantial. I say, sir, the man probably fell 
down and broke his neck. What he was doing here, I 
do not presume to say. ' ' 

"Well, it's guess, you know, Mr. Cardlestone," re- 
marked Breton, again winkiag at Spargo. "But all 
that was found on this man was a scrap of paper on 
which my name and address were written. That's prac- 
tically all that was known of him, except that he'd just 
arrived from Australia." 

Mr. Cardlestone suddenly turned on the young bar- 
rister with a sharp, acute glance. 

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "What's this? You say this 
man had your name and address on him, young Breton ! 
— ^yours? ilnd that he came from — Australia?" 

"That's so," answered Breton. "That's all that's 
known. ' ' 

Mr. Cardlestone put aside his umbrella, produced a 
bandanna handkerchief of strong colours, and blew his 
nose in a reflective fashion. 

"That's a mysterious thing," he observed. "Urn- 
does Blphick know all that?" 



SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 49 

Breton looked at Spargo as if he was asking him for an 
explanation of Mr. Cardlestone 's altered manner. And 
Spargo took up the conversation. 

"No," he said. "All that Mr. Elphick knows is that 
Mr. Ronald Breton's name and address were on the scrap 
of paper found on the body. Mr. Elphick" — here 
Spargo paused and looked at Breton — "Mr. Elphick," 
he presently continued, slowly transferring his glance 
to the old barrister, "spoke of going to view the 
body." 

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Cardlestone, eagerly, "It can 
be seen? Then I'll go and see it. Where is it?" 

Breton started. 

"But— my dear sir!" he said. "Why?" 

Mr. Cardlestone picked up his umbrella again. 

"I feel a proper curiosity about a mystery which oc- 
curs at my very door," he said. "Also, I have known 
more than one man who went to Australia. This might 
— I say might, young gentlemen — ^might be a man I had 
once known. Show me where this body is. ' ' 

Breton looked helplessly at Spargo : it was plain that 
he did not understand the turn that things were taking. 
But Spargo was quick to seize an opportunity. In an- 
other minute he was conducting Mr. Cardlestone through 
the ins and outs of the Temple towards Blaekfriars. 
And as they turned into Tudor Street they encountered 
Mr. Elphick. 

"I am going to the mortuary," he remarked. "So, 
I suppose, are you, Cardlestone? Has anything more 
been discovered, young man?" 

Spargo tried a chance shot — at what he did not know. 



60 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"The man's name was Marbury," he said. "He was 
from Australia." 

He was keeping a keen eye on Mr. Elphick, but he 
failed to see that Mr. Elphiek showed any of the sur- 
prise which Mr. Cardlestone had exhibited. Rather, he 
seemed indifferent. 

"Oh?" he said— "Marbury? And from Australia. 
Well — I should like to see the body. ' ' 

Spargo and Breton had to wait outside the mortuary 
while the two elder gentlemen went in. There was noth- 
ing to be learnt from either when they reappeared. 

"We don't know the man," said Mr. Elphick, calmly. 
"As Mr. Cardlestone, I understand, has said to you al- 
ready — we have known men who went to Australia, and 
as this man was evidently wandering about the Temple, 
we thought it might have been one of them, come back. 
But — ^we don't recognize him." 

"Couldn't recognize him," said Mr. Cardlestone. 
"No!" 

They went away together arm in arm, and Breton 
looked at Spargo. 

"As if anybody on earth ever fancied they'd recog- 
nize him!" he said. "Well — ^what are you going to do 
now, Spargo? I must go." 

Spargo, who had been digging his walking-stick into 
a crack in the pavement, came out of a fit of abstraction. 

" I ? " he said. ' ' Oh— I 'm going to the office. ' ' And 
he turned abruptly away, and walking straight off to 
the editorial rooms at the Watchman, made for one in 
which sat the official guardian of the editor. "Try to 
get me a few minutes with the chief," he said. 



SPARGO WISHES TO SPECIALIZE 51 

The private secretary looked up. 

"Really important?" he asked. 

"Big!" answered Spargo. "Fix it." 

Once closeted with the great man, whose idiosyncrasies 
he knew pretty well by that time, Spargo lost no time. 

"You've heard about this murder in Middle Temple 
Lane?" he suggested. 

"The mere facts," replied the editor, tersely. 

"I was there when the body was found," continued 
Spargo, and gave a brief resume of his doings. "I'm 
certain this is a most unusual affair, ' ' he went on. " It 's 
as full of mystery as — as it could be. I want to give my 
attention to it. I want to specialize on it. I can make 
such a story of it as we haven't had for some time — ages. 
Let me have it. And to start with, let me have two 
columns for tomorrow morning. I '11 make it — big ! ' ' 

The editor looked across his desk at Spargo 's eager 
face. 

"Your other work?" he said. 

"Well in hand," replied Spargo. "I'm ahead a 
whole week — ^both articles and reviews. I can tackle 
both." 

The editor put his finger tips together. 

"Have you got some idea about this, young man?" 
he asked. 

"I've got a great idea," answered Spargo. He faced 
the great man squarely, and stared at him until he had 
brought a smile to the editorial face. "That's why I 
want to do it," he added. "And — it's not mere boast- 
ing nor over-confidence — I know I shall do it better than 
anybody else. ' ' 



52 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

The editor considered matters for a brief moment. 

"You mean to find out who killed this man?" he said 
at last. 

Spargo nodded his head — ^twice. 

"I'll find that out," he said doggedly. 

The editor picked up a pencil, and bent to his desk. 

"All right," he said. "Gro ahead. You shall have 
your two columns. " 

Spargo went quietly away to his own nook and comer. 
He got hold of a block of paper and began to write. 
He was going to show how to do things. 



CHAPTKB SIX 

WITNESS TO A MEETING 

Eonald Breton walked into the Watchman office and 
into Spargo's room next morning holding a copy of the 
current issue in his hand. He waved it at Sparge with 
an enthusiasm which was almost boyish. 

"I say!" he exclaimed. "That's the way to do it, 
Spargo! I congratulate you. Yes, that's the way — 
certain ! ' ' 

Spargo, idly turning over a pile of exchanges, yawned. 

"What way?" he asked indifferently. 

"The way you've written this thing up," said Breton. 
"It's a hundred thousand times better than the usual 
cut-and-dried account of a murder. It's — it's like a — 
a romance!" 

"Merely a new method of giving news," said Spargo. 
He picked up a copy of the Watchmcm, and glanced at 
his two columns, which had somehow managed to make 
themselves into three, viewing the displayed lettering, 
the photograph of the dead man, the line drawing of 
the entry in Middle Temple Lane, and the facsimile of 
the scrap of grey paper, with a critical eye. "Yes — 
merely a new method," he continued. "The question is 
— will it achieve its object ? " 

"What's the object?" asked Breton. 

Spargo fished out a box of cigarettes from an untidy 

53 



54 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

drawer, pushed it over to his visitor, ielped himself, 
and tilting back his chair, put his feet on his desk. 

"The object?" he said, drily. "Oh, well, the object 
is the ultimate detection of the murderer. ' ' 

"You're after that?" 

"I'm after that— just that." 

"And not — not simply out to make eflfeetive news?" 

"I'm out to find the murderer of John Marbury," 
said Spargo deliberately slow in his speech. "And 111 
find him." 

"Well, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of 
clues, so far," remarked Breton. "I see — ^nothing. Do 
you?" 

Spargo sent a spiral of scented smoke into the air. 

"I want to know an awful lot," he said. "I'm hun- 
gering for news. I want to know who John Marbury 
is. I want to know what he did with himself between 
the time when he walked out of the Anglo-Orient Hotel, 
alive and well, and the time when he was found in Mid- 
dle Temple Lane, with his skull beaten in and dead. I 
want to know where he got that scrap of paper. Above 
everything, Breton, I want to know what he 'd got to do 
with you!" 

He gave the young barrister a keen look, and Breton 
nodded. 

"Yes," he said. "I confess that's a corker. But I 
think " 

"Well?" said Spargo. 

"I think he may have been a man who had some legal 
business in hand, or in prospect, and had be^n recom- 
mended to— me," said Breton. 



WITNESS TO A MEETING 55 

Spargo smiled — a little sardonically. 

"That's good!" he said. "You had your very first 
brief — ^yesterday. Come — your fame isn 't blown abroad 
through all the heights yet, my friend! Besides — don't 
intending clients approach — isn't it strict etiquette for 
them to approach? — ^barristers through solicitors?" 

"Quite right — in both your remarks," replied Breton, 
good-humouredly. "Of course, I'm not known a bit, 
but all the same I've known several cases where a bar- 
rister has been approached iu the first instance and asked 
to recommend a solicitor. Somebody who wanted to 
do me a good turn may have given this man my ad- 
dress. ' ' 

"Possible," said Spargo. "But he wouldn't have 
come to consult you at midnight. Breton ! — the more I 
think of it, the more I'm certain there's a tremendous 
mystery in this affair! That's why I got the chief to 
let me write it up as I have done — here. I'm hoping 
that this photograph — though to be sure, it's of a dead 
face — and this facsimile of the scrap of paper will lead 
to somebody coming forward who can " 

Just then one of the uniformed youths who hang 
about the marble pillared vestibule of the Waichman 
office came into the room with the unmistakable look and 
air of one who carries news of moment. 

"I dare lay a sovereign to a cent that I know what 
this is, ' ' muttered Spargo in an aside. ' ' Well ? " he said 
to the boy. "What is it?" 

The messenger came up to the desk. 

"Mr. Spargo," he said, "there's a man downstairs 
who says that he wants to see somebody about that mur- 



56 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

der case that's in the paper this morning, sir. Mr. Bar- 
rett said I was to come to you." 

"Who is the man?" asked Spargo. 

"Won't say, sir," replied the boy. "I gave him a 
form to fill up, but he said he wouldn 't write anything 
— said all he wanted was to see the man who wrote the 
piece in the paper." 

' ' Bring him here, ' ' commanded Spargo. He turned to 
Breton when the boy had gone, and he smiled. "I knew 
we should have somebody here sooner or later," he said. 
"That's why I hurried over my breakfast and came down 
at ten o'clock. Now then, what will you bet on the 
chances of this chap 's information proving valuable ? ' ' 

"Nothing," replied Breton. "He's probably some 
crank or faddist who's got some theory that he wants 
to ventilate." 

The man who was presently ushered in by the messen- 
ger seemed from preliminary and outward appearance 
to justify Breton's prognostication. He was obviously 
a countryman, a tall, loosely-built, middle-aged man, yel- 
low of hair, blue of eye, who was wearing his Sunday- 
best array of pearl-grey trousers and black coat, and 
sported a necktie in which were several distinct colours. 
Oppressed with the splendour and grandeur of the 
Wcdchman building, he had removed his hard billycock 
hat as he followed the boy, and he ducked his bared head 
at the two young men as he stepped on to the thick pile 
of the carpet which made luxurious footing in Spargo 's 
room. His blue eyes, opened to their widest, looked 
round him in astonishment at the sumptuousness of 
modern newspaper-office accommodation. 



WITNESS TO A MEETING 57 

"How do you do, sir?" said Spargo, pointing a finger 
to one of the easy-chairs for which the Watchman office 
is famous. "I understand that you wish to see me?" 

The caller ducked his yellow head again, sat down on 
the edge of the chair, put his hat on the floor, picked it 
up again, and endeavoured to hang it on his knee, and 
looked at Spargo innocently and shyly. 

"What I want to see, sir," he observed in a rustic 
accent, "is the gentleman as wrote that piece in your 
newspaper about this here murder in Middle Temple 
Lane." 

"You see him," said Spargo. "I am that man." 

The caller smiled — generously. 

"Indeed, sir?" he said. "A very nice bit of reading, 
I'm sure. And what might your name be, now, sir? 
I can always talk free-er to a man when I know what 
his name is. ' ' 

"So can I," answered Spargo. "My name is Spargo 
— Frank Spargo. What 's yours ? ' ' 

"Name of Webster, sir — ^William Webster. I farm 
at One Ash Farm, at Gosberton, in Oakshire. Me and 
my wife," continued Mr. Webster, again smiling and 
distributing his smile between both his hearers, "is at 
present in London on a holiday. And very pleasant we 
find it — ^weather and all." 

"That's right," said Spargo. "And — you wanted to . 
see me about this murder, Mr. Webster?" 

"I did, sir. Me, I believe, knowing, as I think, some- 
thing that'll do for you to put in your paper. You see, 
Mr. Spargo, it come about in this fashion — happen you'll 
be for me to tell it in my own way." 



58 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"That," answered Spargo, "is precisely what I de- 
sire." 

"Well, to be sure, I couldn't tell it in no other," 
declared Mr. Webster. "You see, sir, I read your paper 
this morning while I was waiting for my breakfast — 
they take their breakfasts so late in them hotels — Mid 
when I'd read it, and looked at the pictures, I says to 
my wife 'As soon as I've had my breakfast,' I says, 'I'm 
going to where they print this newspaper to teU 'em 
something.' 'Aye?' she says, 'Why, what have you to 
tell, I should like to know?' just like that, Mr. Spargo." 

"Mrs. Webster," said Spargo, "is a lady of business- 
like principles. And what have you to tell?" 

Mr. Webster looked into the crown of his hat, looked 
out of it, and smiled knowingly. 

"Well, sir," he continued, "Last night, my wife, she 
went out to a part they call Clapham, to take her tea 
and supper with an old friend of hers as lives there, 
and as they wanted to have a bit of woman-talk, like, I 
didn't go. So thinks I to myself, I'll go and see this 
here House of Commons. There was a neighbour of 
mine as had told me that all you'd got to do was to tell 
the policeman at the door that you wanted to see your 
own Member of Parliament. So when I got there I told 
'em that I wanted to see our M.P., Mr. Stonewood — 
you'll have heard tell of him, no doubt; he knows me 
very well — and they passed me, and I wrote out a ticket 
for him, and they told me to sit down while they found 
him. So I sat down in a grand sort of hall where there 
were a rare lot of people going and coming, and some 
fine pictures and images to look at, and for a time I 



WITNESS TO A MEETING 59 

looked at them, and then I began to take a bit of notice 
of the folk near at hand, waiting, you know, like myself. 
And as sure as I 'm a christened man, sir, the gentleman 
whose picture you've got in your paper — ^him as was 
murdered — was sitting next to me ! I knew that picture 
as soon as I saw it this morning." 

Spargo, who had been making unmeaning scribbles 
on a block of paper, suddenly looked at his visitor. 

"What time was that?" he asked. 

"It was between a quarter and half -past nine, sir," 
answered Mr. Webster. "It might ha' been twenty past 
— it might ha' been twenty-five past." 

"Go on, if you please," said Spargo. 

"Well, sir, me and this here dead gentleman talked 
a bit. About what a long time it took to get a member 
to attend to you, and such-like. I made mention of the 
fact that I hadn't been in there before. 'Neither have 
I !* he says, 'I came in out of curiosity,' he says, and then 
he laughed, sir — queer-like. And it was just after that 
that what I'm going to tell you about happened." 

"Tell," commanded Spargo. 

"Well, sir, there was a gentleman came along, down 
this grand hall that we were sitting in — a tall, handsome 
gentleman, with a grey beard. He'd no hat on, and he 
was carrying a lot of paper and documents in his hand, 
so I thought he was happen one of the members. And 
all of a sudden this here man at my side, he jumps up 
with a sort of start and an exclamation, and ^" 

Spargo lifted his hand. He looked keenly at his vis- 
itor. 

"Now, you're absolutely sure about what you heard 



60 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

him exclaim?" he asked. "Quite sure about it? Be- 
cause I see you are going to tell us what he did exclaim. " 

"I'll tell you naught but what I'm certain of, sir," 
replied Webster. "What he said as he jumped up was 
'Good God!' he says, sharp-like— and then he said a 
name, and I didn't right catch it, but it sounded like 
Danesworth, or Painesworth, or something of that sort — 
one of them there, or very like 'em, at any rate. And 
then he rushed up to this here gentleman, and laid his 
hand on his arm — sudden-like." 

"And — the gentleman?" asked Spargo, quietly. 

"Well, he seemed taken aback, sir. He jumped. 
Then he stared at the man. Then they shook hands. 
And then, after they'd spoken a few words together-like, 
they walked off, talking. And, of course, I never saw 
no more of 'em. But when I saw your paper this morn- 
ing, sir, and that picture in it, I said to myself 'That's 
the man I sat next to in that there hall at the House of 
Commons ! ' Oh, there 's no doubt of it, sir ! ' ' 

"And supposing you saw a photograph of the tall 
gentleman with the grey beard?" suggested Spargo. 
"Could you recognize him from that?" 

"Make no doubt of it, sir," answered Mr. Webster. 
' ' I observed him particular. ' ' 

Spargo rose, and going over to a cabinet, took from it 
a thick volume, the leaves of which he turned over for 
several minutes. 

"Come here, if you please, Mr. Webster," he said. 

The farmer went across the room. 

"There is a full set of photographs of members of 
the present House of Commons here," said Spai^o. 



WITNESS TO A MEETING 61 

"Now, pick out the one you saw. Take your time — and 
be sure." 

He left his caller turning over the album and went 
back to Breton. 

"There!" he whispered. "Getting nearer — a bit 
nearer — eh ? ' ' 

' ' To what ? ' ' asked Breton. " I don 't see ' ' 

A sudden exclamation from the farmer interrupted 
Breton's remark. 

"This is him, sir!" answered Mr. Webster. "That's 
the gentleman — know him anywhere!" 

The two young men crossed the room. The farmer 
was pointing a stubby finger to a photograph, beneath 
which was written Stephen Aylmore, Esq., M.P. for 
Brookmmster. 



CHAPTEE SEVEN 

MR. AYLMORE 

Spargo, keenly observant and watchful, felt, rather 
than saw, Breton start; he himself preserved an im- 
perturbable equanimity. He gave a mere glance at the 
photograph to which Mr. Webster was pointing. 

"Oh!" he said. "That he?" 

' ' That 's the gentleman, sir, ' ' repli ed Webster. ' ' Done 
to the life, that is. No difficulty in recognizing of that, 
Mr. Spargo." 

' ' You 're absolutely sure ? ' ' demanded Spargo. ' ' There 
are a lot of men in the House of Commons, you know, 
who wear beards, and many of the beards are grey. ' ' 

But Webster wagged his head. 

' ' That 's him, sir ! " he repeated. " I 'm as sure of that 
as I am that my name's William Webster. That's the 
man I saw talking to him whose picture you've got in 
your paper. Can't say no more, sir." 

"Very good," said Spargo. "I'm much obliged to 
you. I'll see Mr. Aylmore. Leave me your address in 
London, Mr. Webster. How long do you remain in 
town?" 

"My address is the Beachcroft Hotel, Bloomsbury, 
sir, and I shall be there for another week," answered the 
farmer. "Hope I've been of some use, Mr. Spargo. 

As I says to my wife " 

62 



MR. AYLMORE 63 

Spai^o cut his visitor short in polite fashion and 
bowed him out. He turned to Breton, who still stood 
staring at the album of portraits. 

' ' There !— what did I teU you ? " he said. ' ' Didn 't I 
say I should get some news? There it is." 

Breton nodded his head. He seemed thoughtful. 

' ' Yes, ' ' he agreed. ' ' Yes, I say, Spargo ! ' ' 

"Well?" 

"Mr. Aylmore is my prospective father-in-law, you 
know." 

"Quite aware of it. Didn't you introduce me to his 
daughters — only yesterday ? ' ' 

"But — how did you know they were his daughters?" 

Spargo laughed as he sat down to his desk. 

"Instinct — intuition," he answered. "However, 
never mind that, just now. Well — I 've found something 
out. Marbury — if that is the dead man 's real name, and 
anyway, it's all we know him by — ^was in the company 
of Mr. Aylmore that night. Good!" 

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Breton. 

"Do? See Mr. Aylmore, of course." 

He was turning over the leaves of a telephone address- 
book; one hand had already picked up the mouthpiece 
of the instrument on his desk. 

"Look here," said Breton. "I know where Mr. Ayl- 
more is always to be found at twelve o'clock. At the 
A. and P. — the Atlantic and Pacific Club, you know, in 
St. James's. If you like, I'll go with you." 

Spargo glanced at the clock and laid down the tele- 
phone. 

"All right," he said. "Eleven o'clock, now. I've 



64 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

something to do. I'll meet you outside the A. and P. 
at exactly noon." 

"I'll be there," agreed Breton. He made for the 
door, and with his hand on it, turned. "What do you 
expect from — from what we've just heard?" he asked. 

Spargo shrugged his shoulders. 

"Wait— until we hear what Mr. Aylmore has to say," 
he answered. "I suppose this man Marbury was some 
old acquaintance. ' ' 

Breton closed the door and went away: left alone, 
Spargo began to mutter to himself. 

"Good God!" he says. "Dainsworth — ^Painsworth — 
something of that sort — one of the two. Excellent — ^that 
our farmer friend should have so much observation. 
Ah! — and why should Mr. Stephen Aylmore be recog- 
nized as Dainsworth or Painsworth or something of that 
sort. Now, who is Mr. Stephen Aylmore — beyond being 
what I know him to be ? " 

Spargo 's fingers went instinctively to one of a number 
of books of reference which stood on his desk: they 
turned with practised swiftness to a page over which his 
eye ran just as swiftly. He read aloud: 

"Aylmore, Stephen, M.P. for Brookminster since 
1910. Residences: 23, St. Osythe Court, Kensington: 
Buena Vista, Great Marlow. Member Atlantic and Pa- 
cific and City Venturers' Clubs. Interested in South 
American enterprise." 

"Um!" muttered Spargo, putting the book away. 
"That's not very illuminating. However, we've got one 
move finished. Now we'll make another." 

Going over to the album of photographs, Spargo deftly 



MR. AYLMORE 65 

emoved that of Mr. Aylmore, put it in an envelope and 
he envelope in his pocket and, leaving the office, hailed 

taxi-cab, and ordered its driver to take him to the 
inglo-Orient Hotel. This was the something-to-do of 
?hich he had spoken to Breton : Spargo wanted to do it 
lone. 

Mrs. Walters was in her low-windowed office when 
Ipargo entered the hall ; she recognized him at once and 
lotioned him into her parlour. 

' ' I remember you, ' ' said Mrs. "Walters ; ' ' you came with 
lie detective — Mr. Rathbury." 

' ' Have you seen him, since 1 ' ' asked Spargo. 

"Not since," replied Mrs. "Walters. "No — and I was 

randering if he'd be coming round, because " She 

aused there and looked at Spargo with particular en- 
uiry — "You're a friend of his, aren't you?" she asked. 
I suppose vou know as much as he does — about this ? ' ' 

"He and I," replied Spargo, with easy confidence, 
are working this case together. You can tell me any- 
tiing you'd tell him." 

The landlady rummaged in her pocket and produced 
n old purse, from an inner compartment of which she 
rought out a small object wrapped in tissue paper. 

""Well," she said, unwrapping the paper, "we found 
lis in Number 20 this morning — it was lying under the 
ressing-table. The girl that found it brought it to me, 
Qd I thought it was a bit of glass, but "Walters, he says 
3 how he shouldn't be surprised if it's a diamond. And 
nee we found it, the waiter who took the whisky up to 
O, after Mr. Marbury came in with the other gentleman, 
as told me that when he went into the room the two 



66 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

gentlemen were looking at a paper full of things like 
this. So there?" 

Spargo fingered the shining bit of stone. 

' ' That 's a diamond— right enough, ' ' he said. ' ' Put it 
away, Mrs. Walters— I shall see Rathbury presently, and 
I'll tell him about it. Now, that other gentleman ! You 
told us you saw him. Could you recognize him— I mean, 
a photograph of him? Is this the man?" 

Spargo knew from the expression of Mrs. Walters' 
face that she had no more doubt than Webster had. 

"Oh, yes!" she said. "That's the gentleman who 
came in with Mr. Marbury — I should have known him in 
a thousand. Anybody would recognize him from that — 
perhaps you'd let our hall-porter and the waiter I men- 
tioned just now look at it ? " 

"I'll see them separately and see if they've ever seen 
a man who resembles this," replied Spargo. 

The two men recognized the photograph at once, with- 
out any prompting, and Spargo, after a word or two 
with the landlady, rode off to the Atlantic and Pacific 
Club, and found Ronald Breton awaiting him on the 
steps. He made no reference to his recent doings, and 
together they went into the house and asked for Mr. 
Aylmore. 
. Spargo looked with more than uncommon interest at 
the man who presently came to them in the visitors' 
room. He was already familiar with Mr. Aylmore 's 
photograph, but he never remembered seeing him in real 
life ; the Member for Brookminster was one of that rap- 
idly diminishing body of legislators whose members are 
disposed to work quietly and unobtrusively, doing yeo- 



MR. AYLMORE 67 

man service on committees, obeying eveiry behest of the 
party whips, without forcing themselves into the lime- 
light or seizing every opportunity to air their opinions. 
Now that Spargo met him in the flesh he proved to be 
pretty much what the journalist had expected — a rather 
eold-mannered, self-contained man, who looked as if he 
had been brought up in a school of rigid repression, and 
taught not to waste words. He showed no more than the 
merest of languid interests in Spargo when Breton in- 
troduced him, and his face was quite expressionless when 
Spargo brought to an end his brief explanation — pur- 
posely shortened — of his object in calling upon him. 

"Yes," he said indifferently. "Yes, it is quite true 
that I met Marbury and spent a little time with him on 
the evening your informant spoke of. I met him, as he 
told you, in the lobby of the House. I was much sur- 
prised to meet him. I had not seen him for — I really 
don't know how many years." 

He paused and looked at Spargo as if he was wonder- 
ing "what hei ought or not to say to a newspaper man. 
Spargo remained silent, waiting. And presently Mr. 
Aylmore went on. 

"I read your account in the Watchman this morn- 
ing," he said. "I was wondering, when you called just 
now, if I would communicate with you or -with the police. 
The fact is— I suppose you want this for your paper, 
eh?" he continued after a sudden breaking off. 

"I shall not print anything that you wish me not to 
print," answered Spargo. "If you care to give me any 
information " 

' ' Oh, well ! ' ' said Mr. Aylmore, " I don 't mind. The 



68 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

fact is, I knew next to nothing. Marbury was a man 
with whom I had some — ^well, business relations, of a 
sort, a great many years ago. It must be twenty years 
— perhaps more — since I lost sight of him. When he 
came up to me in the lobby the other night, I had to 
make an effort of memory to recall him. He wished me, 
having once met me, to give him some advice, and as 
there was little doing in the House that night, and as he 
had once been — almost a friend — I walked to his hotel 
with him, chatting. He told me that he had only landed 
from Australia that morning, and what he wanted my 
advice about, principally, was — diamonds. Australian 
diamonds." 

. "I was unaware," remarked Spargo, "that diamonds 
were ever found in Australia. ' ' 

Mr. Aylmore smiled — a little cynically. 

"Perhaps so," he said. "But diamonds have been 
found in Australia from time to time, ever since Aus- 
tralia was known to Europeans, and in the opinion of 
experts, they will eventually be found there in quan- 
tity. Anyhow, Marbury had got hold of some Aus- 
tralian diamonds, and he showed them to me at his hotel 
— a number of them. We examined them in his room. ' ' 

"What did he do with them — afterwards?" asked 
Spargo. 

"He put them in his waistcoat pocket — in a very small 
wash-leather bag, from which he had taken them. There 
were, in all, sixteen or twenty stones — not more, and 
they were all small. I advised him to see some expert 
— I mentioned Streeter's to him. Now, I can tell you 
tow he got hold of Mr, Breton's address." 



MR. AYLMORE 69 

The two young men pricked up their ears. Spargo 
nconsciously tightened his hold on the pencil with 
fhich he was making notes. 

"He got it from me," continued Mr. Aylmore. "The 
andwriting on the scrap of paper is mine, hurriedly 
erawled. He wanted legal advice. As I knew very 
ttle about lawyers, I told him that if he called on Mr. 
Sreton, Mr. Breton would be able to tell him of a first- 
lass, sharp solicitor. I wrote down Mr. Breton's ad- 
ress for him, on a "crap of paper which he tore off a 
3tter that he took from his pocket. By the by, I ob- 
erve that when his body was found there was nothing 
n it in the shape of papers or money. I am quite sure 
hat when I left him he had a lot of gold on him, those 
iamonds, and a breast-pocket full of letters." 

"Where did you leave him, sir?" asked Spargo. 
You left the hotel together, I believe?" 

"Yes. We strolled along when we left it. Having 
nee met, we had much, to talk of, and it was a fine 
ight. We walked across Waterloo Bridge and very 
liortly afterwards he left me. And that is really all I 

now. My own impression " He paused for a mo- 

lent and Spargo waited silently. 

"My own impression — though I confess it may seem 
> have no very solid grounds — is that Marbury was de- 
ayed to where he was found, and was robbed and mur- 
ered by some person who knew he had valuables on 
im. There is the fact that he was robbed, at any rate. ' ' 

"I've had a notion," said Breton, diffidently. 
Mayn't be worth much, but I've had it, all the same, 
ome fellow-passenger of Marbury 's may have tracked 



70 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

him all day — Middle Temple Lane's pretty lonely at 
night, you know." 

No one made -any comment upon this suggestion, and 
on Spargo looking at Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Par- 
liament rose and glanced at the door. 

"Well, that's all I can tell you, Mr. Spargo," he said. 
"You see, it's not much, after all. Of course, there'll 
be an inquest on Marbury, and I shall have to re-tell it. 
But you're welcome to print what 7've told you." 

Spargo left Breton with his future father-in-law and 
went away towards New Scotland Yard. He and Rath- 
bury had promised to share news — now he had some to 
communicate. 



CHAPTER EIGHT 

THE MAN PROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 

Spargo found Rathbury sitting alone in a small, some- 
what dismal apartment which was chiefly remarkable for 
the business-like paucity of its furnishings and its in- 
iefinable air of secrecy. There was a plain writing- 
table and a hard chair or two ; a map of London, much 
discoloured, on the wall; a few faded photographs of 
eminent 'bands in the world of crime, and a similar num- 
ber of well-thumbed books of refierence. The detective 
Limself, when Spargo was shown in to him, was seated at 
the table, chewing an unlighted cigar, and engaged in the 
apparently aimless task of drawing hieroglyphics on 
scraps of paper. He looked up as the journalist entered, 
and held out his hand. 

"Well, I congratulate you on what you stuck in the 
Watchman this morning," he said. "Made extra good 
reading, I thought. They did right to let you tackle 
that job. Going straight through with it now, I sup- 
pose, Mr. Spargo?" 

Spargo dropped into the chair nearest to Rathbury 's 
right hand. He lighted a cigarette, and having blown 
3ut a whiff of smoke, nodded his head in a fashion which 
indicated that the detective might consider his question 
answered in the afiSrmative. 

"Look here," he said. "We settled yesterday, didn't 

71 



72 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

we, that you and I are to consider ourselves partners, as 
it were, in this job? That's all right," he continued, 
as Rathbury nodded very quietly. "Very well — ^have 
you made any further progress?" 

Rathbury put his thumbs in the armholes of his waist- 
coat and, leaning back in his chair, shook his head. 

"Frankly, I haven't," he replied. "Of course, 
there 's a lot being done in the usual official-routine way. 
We've men out making various enquiries. We're en- 
quiring about Marbury's voyage to England. All that 
we know up to now is that he was certainly a passenger 
on a liner which landed at Southampton in accordance 
with what he told those people at the Anglo-Orient, that 
he left the ship in the usual way and was understood to 
take the train to town — as he did. That's all. There's 
nothing in that. We've cabled to Melbourne for any 
news of him from there. But I expect little from that." 

"All right," said Spargo. "And — ^what are you do- 
ing — ^you, yourself? Because, if we're to share facts, I 
must know what my partner's after. Just now, you 
seemed to be — drawing. ' ' 

Rathbury laughed. 

"Well, to tell you the truth," he said, "when I want 
to work things out, I come into this room — it's quiet, as 
you see — and I scribble anything on paper while I think. 
I was figuring on my next step, and " 

"Do you see it?" asked Spargo, quickly. 

"Well — I want to find the man who went with Mar- 
bury to that hotel," replied Rathbury. "It seems to 
me " 

Spargo wagged his finger at his fellow-contriver. 



THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 73 

"I've found him," he said. "That's what I wrote 
that article for — to find him. I knew it would find him. 
I 've never had any training in your sort of work, but I 
knew that article would get him. And it has got him. ' ' 

Rathbury accorded the journalist a look of admira- 
tion. 

"Good!" he said. "And— who is he?" 

"I'll tell you the story," answered Spargo, "and 
in a summary. This morning a man named Webster, 
a farmer, a visitor to London, came to me at the ofiSce, 
and said that being at the House of Commons last night 
he witnessed a meeting between Marbury and a man who 
was evidently a Member of Parliament, and saw them 
go away together. I showed him an album of photo- 
graphs of the present members, and he immediately rec- 
ognised the portrait of one of them as the man in ques- 
tion. I thereupon took the portrait to the Anglo-Orient 
Hotel — Mrs. Walters also at once recognized it as that 
of the man who came to the hotel with Marbury, stopped 
with him a while in his room, and left with him. The 
man is Mr. Stephen Aylmore, the member for Brook- 
minster. ' ' 

Rathbury expressed his feelings in a sharp whistle. 

"I know him!" he said. "Of course — I remember 
Mrs. Walters 's description now. But his is a familiar 
type — tall, grey-bearded, well-dressed. Um! — ^well, 
we'll have to see Mr. Aylmore at once." 

"I've seen him," said Spargo. "Naturally! For 
you see, Mrs. Walters gave me a bit more evidence. 
This morning they found a loose diamond on the floor 
of Number 20, and after it was found the waiter who 



74. THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

took the drinks up to Marbury and his guest that night 
remembered that when he entered the room the two 
gentlemen were looking at a paper full of similar objects. 
So then I went on to see Mr. Aylmore. You know young 
Breton, the barrister? — you met him with me, you re- 
member ? ' ' 

"The young fellow whose name and address were 
found on Marbury, ' ' replied Eathbury. ' ' I remember. ' ' 

"Breton is engaged to Aylmore 's daughter," con- 
tinued Spargo. "Breton took me to Aylmore 's club. 
And Aylmore gives a plain, straightforward account of 
the matter which he's granted me leave to print. It 
clears up a lot of things. Aylmore knew Marbury over 
twenty years ago. He lost sight of him. They met ac- 
cidentally in the lobby of the House on the evening pre- 
ceding the murder. Marbury told him that he wanted 
his advice about those rare things, Australian diamonds. 
He went back with him to his hotel and spent a while 
with him ; then they walked out together as far as Water- 
loo Bridge, where Aylmore left him and went home. 
Further, the scrap of grey paper is accounted for. Mar- 
bury wanted the address of a smart solicitor ; Aylmore . 
didn't know of one but told Marbury that if he called 
on young Breton, he'd know, and would put him in the 
way to find one. Marbury wrote Breton's address down. 
That's Aylmore 's story. But it's got an important ad- 
dition. Aylmore says that when he left Marbury, Mar- 
bury had on him a quantity of those diamonds in a wash- 
leather bag, a lot of gold, and a breast-pocket full of let- 
ters and papers. Now — there was nothing on him when 
he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane." 



THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 75 

Spargo stopped and lighted a fresh cigarette. 

"That's all I know," he said. "What do you make 
of it?" 

Rathbury leaned back in his chair in his apparently 
favourite attitude and stared hard at the dusty ceiling 
above him. 

"Don't know," he said. "It brings things up to a 
point, certainly. Aylmore and Marbury parted at 
Waterloo Bridge — ^very late. Waterloo Bridge is pretty 
well next door to the Temple. But — how did Marbury 
get into the Temple, unobserved? We've made every 
enquiry, and we can't trace him in any way as regards 
that movement. There's a clue for his going there in 
the scrap of paper bearing Breton's address, but even 
a Colonial would know that no business was done in the 
Temple at midnight, eh?" 

"Well," said Spargo, "I've thought of one or two 
things. He may have been one of those men who like 
to wander around at night. He may have seen — he 
would see — plenty of lights in the Temple at that hour ; 
he may have slipped in unobserved — it's possible, it's 
quite possible. I once had a moonlight saunter in the 
Temple myself after midnight, and had no difiSculty 
about walking in and out, either. But — if Marbury was 
murdered for the sake of what he had on him — how did 
ie meet with his murderer or murderers in there ? Crim- 
inals don't hang about Middle Temple Lane." 

The detective shook his head. He picked up his pencil 
and began making more hieroglyphics. 

"What's your theory, Mr. Spargo?" he asked sud- 
ienly. "I suppose you've got one." 



76 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Have you?" asked Spargo, bluntly. 

"Well," returned Rathbury, hesitatingly, "I hadn't, 
up to now. But now — ^now, after what you've told me, 
I think I can make one. It seems to me that after Mar- 
bury left Aylmore he probably mooned about by himself, 
that he was decoyed into the Temple, and was there 
murdered and robbed. There are a lot of queer ins and 
outs, nooks and comers in that old spot, Mr. Spargo, 
and the murderer, if he knew his ground well, could 
easily hide himself until he could get away in the morn- 
ing. He might be a man who had access to chambers or 
offices — think how easy it would be for such a man, hav- 
ing once killed and robbed his victim, to lie hid for hours 
afterwards? For aught we know, the man who mur- 
dered Marbury may have been within twenty feet of you 
when you first saw his dead body that morning. Eh?" 

Before Spargo could reply to this suggestion an of- 
ficial entered the room and whispered a few words in the 
detective's ear. 

"Show him in at once," said Rathbury. He turned 
to Spargo as the man quitted the room and smiled sig- 
nificantly. "Here's somebody wants to tell something 
about the Marbury case," he remarked. "Let's hope 
it'll be news worth hearing." 

Spargo smiled in his queer fashion. 

"It strikes me that you've only got to interest an in- 
quisitive public in order to get news," he said. "The 
principal thing is to investigate it when youVe got it. 
Who's this, now?" 

The official had returned with a dapper-looking gentle- 
man in a frock-coat and silk hat, bearing upon him the 



THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 77 

unmistakable stamp of the city man, who inspected Rath- 
bury with deliberation and Spargo with a glance, and be- 
ing seated turned to the detective as undoubtedly the 
person he desired to converse with. 

"I understand that you are the officer in charge of 
the Marbury murder case," he observed. "I believe I 
can give you some valuable information in respect to 
that. I read the account of the affair in the Watchman 
newspaper this morning, and saw the portrait of the 
murdered man there, and I was at first inclined to go to 
the Watchman office with my information, but I finally 
decided to approach the police instead of the Press, re- 
garding the police as being more — more responsible. ' ' 

"Much obliged to you, sir," said Rathbury, with a 
glance at Spargo. "Whom have I the pleasure of " 

"My name," replied the visitor, drawing out and lay- 
ing down a card, "is Myerst — Mr. E. P. Myerst, Secre- 
tary of the London and Universal Safe Deposit Com- 
pany. I may, I suppose, speak with confidence," con- 
tinued Mr. Myerst, with a side-glance at Spargo. "My 
information is — confidential. ' ' 

Rathbury inclined his head and put his fingers to- 
gether. 

"You may speak with every confidence, Mr. Myerst," 
he answered. "If what you have to tell has any real 
bearing on the Marbury case, it will probably have to 
be repeated in public, you know, sir. But at present it 
will be treated as private." 

"It has a very real bearing on the case, I should say," 
replied Mr. Myerst. "Yes, I should decidedly say so. 
The fact is that on June 21st at about— to be precise— 



78 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

three o'clock in the afternoon, a stranger, who gave the 
name of John Marbury, and his present address as the 
Anglo-Orient Hotel, Waterloo, called at our establish- 
ment, and asked if he could rent a small safe. He ex- 
plained to me that he desired to deposit in such a safe 
a small leather box — which, by the by, was of remark- 
ably ancient appearance — that he had brought with him. 
I showed him a safe such as he wanted, informed him 
of the rent, and of the rules of the place, and he engaged 
the safe, paid the rent for one year in advance, and de- 
posited his leather box — an affair of about a foot square 
— there and then. After that, having exchanged a re- 
mark or two about the altered conditions of London, 
which, I understood him to say, he had not seen for a 
great many years, he took his key and his departure. I 
think there can be no doubt about this being the Mr. 
Marbury who was found murdered." 

"None at all, I should say, Mr. Myerst," said Rath- 
bury. "And I'm much obliged to you for coming here. 
Now you might tell me a little more, sir. Did Marbury 
tell you anything about the contents of the box ? ' ' 

"No. He merely remarked that he wished the great- 
est care to be taken of it, ' ' replied the secretary. 

"Didn't give you any hint as to what was in it?" 
asked Rathbury. 

"None. But he was very particular to assure himself 
that it could not be burnt, nor burgled, nor otherwise 
molested," replied Mr. Myerst. "He appeared to be 
greatly relieved when he found that it was impossible 
for anyone but himself to take his property from his 
safe." 



THE MAN FROM THE SAFE DEPOSIT 79 

"Ah!" said Rathbury, winking at Spargo. "So he 
would, no doubt. And Marbury himself, sir, now? 
How did he strike you?" 

Mr. Myerst gravely considered this question. 

"Mr. Marbury struck me," he answered at last, "as 
a man who had probably seen strange places. And be- 
fore leaving he made, what I will term, a remarkable re- 
mark. About — in fact, about his leather box." 

"His leather box?" said Rathbury. "And what was 
it, sir?" 

' ' This, ' ' replied the secretary. ' ' ' That box, ' he said, 
'is safe now. But it's been safer. It's been buried — 
and deep-down, too — for many and many a year!' " 



CHAPTER NINE 

THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 

"Buried — and deep-down, too — for many and many a 
year," repeated Mr. Myerst, eyeing his companions with 
keen glances. "I consider that, gentlemen, a very re- 
markable remark — very remarkable ! ' ' 

Rathbury stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his 
waistcoat again and began swaying backwards and for- 
wards in his chair. He looked at Spargo. And with 
his knowledge of men, he knew that all Spargo 's journal- 
istic instincts had been aroused, and that he was keen 
as mustard to be off on a new scent. 

"Remarkable — remarkable, Mr. Myerst!" he assented. 
"What do you say, Mr. Spargo?" 

Spargo turned slowly, and for the first time since 
Myerst had entered made a careful inspection of him. 
The inspection lasted several seconds ; then Spargo spoke. 

"And what did you say to that?" he asked quietly. 

Myerst looked from his questioner to Rathbury. And 
Rathbury thought it time to enlighten the caller. 

"I may as well tell you, Mr. Myerst," he said smil- 
ingly, "that this is Mr. Spargo, of the Watchman. Mr. 
Spargo wrote the article about the Marbury case of which 
you spoke when you came in. Mr. Spargo, you'll gather, 

80 



THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 81 

is deeply interested in this matter — and he and I, in our 
different capacities, are working together. So — ^you un- 
derstand?" 

Myerst regarded Spargo in a new light. And while 
he was so looking at him, Spargo repeated the question 
he had just put. 

"I said— What did you say to that?" 

Myerst hesitated. 

"Well — er — I don't think I said anything," he re- 
plied. "Nothing that one might call material, you 
know. ' ' 

"Didn't ask him what he meant?" suggested Spargo. 

"Oh, no — not at all," replied Myerst. 

Spargo got up abruptly from his chair. 

"Then you missed one of the finest opportunities I 
ever heard of!" he said, half-sneeringly. "You might 
have heard such a story " 

He paused, as if it were not worth while to continue, 
and turned to Rathbury, who was regarding him with 
amusement. 

"Look here, Rathbury," he said. "Is it possible to 
get that box opened ? ' ' 

"It'll have to be opened," answered Rathbury, rising. 
"It's got to be opened. It probably contains the clue 
we want. I'm going to ask Mr. Myerst here to go with 
me just now to take the first steps about having it opened. 
I shall have to get an order. We may get the matter 
through today, but at any rate we'll have it done tomor- 
row morning." 

"Can you arrange for me to be present when that 
comes off?" asked Spargo. "You can— certain? 



82 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

That's all right, Rathbury. Now I'm off, and you'll 
ring me up or come round if you hear anything, and I'll 
do the same by you." 

And without further word, Spargo went quickly away, 
and just as quickly returned to the Watchman office. 
There the assistant who had been told off to wait upon 
his orders during this new crusade met him with a busi- 
ness card. 

"This gentleman came in to see you about an hour 
ago, Mr. Spargo," he said. "He thinks he can tell you 
something about the Marbury affair, and he said that 
as he couldn't wait, perhaps you'd step round to his 
place when you came in." 

Spargo took the card and read : 

Me. James Cbiedir, 

Dealer in Philatelic Rarities, 

2,021, Strand. 

Spargo put the card in his waistcoat pocket and went 
out again, wondering why Mr. James Criedir could not, 
would not, or did not call himself a dealer in rare postage 
stamps, and so use plain English. He went up Fleet 
Street and soon found the shop indicated on the card, 
and his first glance at its exterior showed that whatever 
business might have been done by Mr. Criedir in the 
past at that establishment there was to be none done there 
in the future by him, for there were newly-printed bills 
in the window announcing that the place was to let. 
And inside he found a short, portly, elderly man who 
was superintending the packing-up and removal of the 



THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 83 

last of his stock. He turned a bright, enquiring eye on 
the journalist. 

"Mr. Criedir?" said Spargo. 

"The same, sir," answered the philatelist. "You 
are ?" 

' ' Mr. Spargo, of the Watchman. You called on me. ' ' 

Mr. Criedir opened the door of a tiny apartment at the 
rear of the very little shop and motioned his caller to 
enter. He followed him in and carefully closed the 
door. 

"Glad to see you, Mr. Spargo," he said genially. 
' ' Take a seat, sir — I 'jp. all in confusion here — giving up 
business, you see. Yes, I called on you. I think, having 
read the Watchman account of that Marbury affair, and 
having seen the murdered man's photograph in your 
columns, that I can give you a bit of information. ' ' 

"Material?" asked Spargo, tersely. 

Mr. Criedir cocked one of his bright eyes at his visitor. 
He coughed drily. 

"That's for you to decide — ^when you've heard it," 
he said. "I should say, considering everything, that it 
was material. Well, it's this — I kept open until yester- 
day---everything as usual, you know — stock in the win- 
dow and so on — ^so that anybody who was passing would 
naturally have thought that the business was going on, 
though as a matter of fact, I'm retiring — retired," added 
Mr. Criedir with a laugh, "last night. Now— but won't 
you take down what I've got to tell you?" 

"I am taking it down," answered Spargo. "Every 
word. In my head." 

Mr. Criedir laughed and rubbed his hands. 



84 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

" Oh ! " he said. ' ' Ah, well, in my young days journal- 
ists used to pull out pencil and notebook at the first op- 
portunity. But you modern young men " 

"Just so," agreed Spargo. "This information, 
now?" 

"Well," said Mr. Criedir, "we'll go on then. Yes- 
terday afternoon the man described as Marbury came 
into my shop. He " 

"What time — exact time?" asked Spargo. 

"Two — ^to the very minute by St. Clement Danes 
clock," answered Mr. Criedir. "I'd swear twenty af- 
fidavits on that point. He was precisely as you've de- 
scribed him — dress, everything — I tell you I knew his 
photo as soon as I saw it. He was carrying a little 
box " 

"What sort of box?" said Spargo. 

"A queer, old-fashioned, much-worn leather box — 
a very miniature trunk, in fact," replied Mr. Criedir. 
"About a foot square; the sort of thing you never see 
nowadays. It was very much worn ; it attracted me for 
that very reason. He set it on the counter and looked 
at me. 'You're a dealer in stamps — rare stamps?' he 
said. 'I am,' I replied. 'I've something here I'd like 
to show you,' he said, unlocking the box. 'It's " 

"Stop a bit," said Spargo. "Where did he take the 
key from with which he unlocked the box?" 

"It was one of several which he carried on a split 
ring, and he took the biinch out of his left-hand trousers 
pocket," replied Mr. Criedir. "Oh, I keep my eyes 
open, young gentleman! Well — he opened his box. It 
seemed to me to be full of papers — at any rate there 



THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 85 

were a lot of legal-looking documents on the top, tied 
up with red tape. To show you how I notice things I 
saw that the papers were stained with age, and that the 
red tape was faded to a mere washed-out pink. ' ' 

"Good — good!" murmured Spargo. "Excellent! 
Proceed, sir." 

' ' He put his hand under the topmost papers and drew 
out an envelope," continued Mr. Criedir. "From the 
envelope he produced an exceedingly rare, exceedingly 
valuable set of Colonial stamps — the very first ever is- 
sued. 'I've just come from Australia,' he said. 'I 
promised a young friend of mine out there to sell these 
stamps for him in London, and as I was passing this 
way I caught sight of your shop. Will you buy 'em, 
and how much will you give for 'em?' " 

"Prompt," muttered Spargo. 

' ' He seemed to me the sort of man who doesn 't waste 
words, ' ' agreed Mr. Criedir. ' ' Well, there was no doubt 
about the stamps, nor about their great value. But I 
had to explain to him that I was retiring from business 
that very day, and did not wish to enter into even a 
single deal, and that, therefore, I couldn't do anything. 
'No matter,' he says, 'I daresay there are lots of men in 
your line of trade — perhaps you can recommend me to 
a good firm ? ' 'I could recommend you to a dozen extra- 
good firms,' I answered. 'But I can do better for you. 
I'll give you the nam^ and address of a private buyer 
who, I haven't the least doubt, will be very glad to buy 
that set from you and will give you a big price. ' ' Write 
it down, ' he says, 'and thank you for your trouble. ' So 
I gave him a bit of advice as to the price he ought to 



86 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

get, and I wrote the name and address of the man I 
referred to on the back of one of my cards. ' ' 

"Whose name and address?" asked Spargo. 

"Mr. Nicholas Cardlestone, 2, Pilcox Buildings, Mid- 
dle Temple Lane,\" replied Mr. Criedir. "Mr. Cardle- 
stone is one of the most enthusiastic and accomplished 
philatelists in Europe. And I knew he didn't possess 
that set of stamps." 

"I know Mr. Cardlestone," remarked Spargo. "It 
was at the foot of his stairs that Marbury was found 
murdered. ' ' 

' ' Just so, ' ' said Mr. Criedir. ' ' Which makes me think 
that he was going to see Mr. Cardlestone when he was 
set upon, murdered, and robbed. ' ' 

Spargo looked fixedly at the retired stamp-dealer. 

"What, going to see an elderly gentleman in his 
rooms in the Temple, to oflfer to sell him philatelic rari- 
ties at — past midnight?" he said. "I think — ^not 
much ! ' ' 

"All right," replied Mr. Criedir. "You think and 
argue on modem lines — ^which are, of course, highly su- 
perior. But — ^how do you account for my having given 
Marbury Mr. Cardlestone 's address and for his having 
been found dead — murdered — at the foot of Cardle- 
stone 's stairs a few hours later ? ' ' 

"I don't account for it," said Spargo. "I'm trying 
to." 

Mr. Criedir made no comment on this. He looked 
his visitor up and down for a moment; gathered some 
idea of his capabilities, and suddenly offered him a 
cigarette. Spargo accepted it with a laconic word of 



THE DEALER IN RARE STAMPS 87 

thanks, and smoked half-way through it before he spoke 
again. 

"Yes," he said. "I'm trying to account. And I 
shall account. And I'm much obliged to you, Mr. 
Criedir, for what you've told me. Now, then, may I 
ask you a question or two ? ' ' 

"A thousand!" responded Mr. Criedir with great 
genifility. 

"Very well. Did Marbury say he'd call on Cardie- 
stone?" 

"He did. Said he'd call as soon as he could — ^that 
day." 

"Have you told Cardlestone what you've just told 
me?" 

"I have. But not until an hour ago — on my way 
back from your office, in fact. I met him in Fleet Street 
and told him. ' ' 
' ' Had he received a call from Marbury ? ' ' 
"No! Never heard of or seen the man. At least, 
never heard of him until he heard of the murder. He 
told me he and his friend, Mr. Elphick, another philatel- 
ist, went to see the body, wondering if they could recog- 
nize it as any man they'd ever known, but they 
couldn't." 

"I know they did," said Spargo. "I saw 'em at the 
mortuary. Um ! Well — one more question. When 
Marbury left you, did he put those stamps in his box 
again, as before ? ' ' 

"No," replied Mr. Criedir. "He put them in his 
right-hand breast pocket, and he locked up his old box, 
and went off swinging it in his left hand. ' ' 



88 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo went away down Fleet Street, seeing nobody. 
He muttered to himself, and he was still muttering when 
he got into his room at the office. And what he mut- 
tered was the same thing, repeated over and over again : 
' ' Six hours — six hours — six hours ! Those six hours ! ' ' 
Next morning the Watchman came out with four 
leaded columns of up-to-date news about the Marbury 
Case, and right across the top of the four ran a heavy 
double line of great capitals, black and staring: — 
Who Saw John Marbury Between 3.15 p. m. and 9.15 
p. M. ON THE Day Preceding His Murder ? 



CHAPTER TEN 

THE LEATHER BOX 

Whether Spargo was sanguine enough to expect that 
his staring headline would bring him information of the 
sort he wanted was a secret which he kept to himself. 
That a good many thousands of human beings must have 
set eyes on John Marbury between the hours which 
Spargo set forth in that headline was certain ; the prob- 
lem was — ^What particular owner or owners of a pair or 
of many pairs of those eyes would remember him ? Why 
should they remember him? Walters and his wife had 
reason to remember him ; Criedir had reason to remember 
him ; so had Myerst ; so had William Webster. But be- 
tween a quarter past three, when he left the London 
and Universal Safe Deposit, and a quarter past nine, 
when he sat down by Webster's side in the lobby of the 
House of Commons, nobody seemed to have any recollec- 
tion of him except Mr. Fiskie, the hatter, and he only 
remembered him faintly, and because Marbury had 
bought a fashionable cloth cap at his shop. At any 
rate, by noon of that day, nobody had come forward 
with any recollection of him. He must have gone West 
from seeing Myerst, because he bought his cap at 
Piskie's ; he must eventually have gone South-West, be- 
cause he turned up at Westminster. But where else did 

89 



90 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

he go ? What did he do 1 To whom did he speak ? No 
answer came to these questions. 

"That shows," observed young Mr. Ronald Breton, 
lazing an hour away in Spargo 's room at the Watchman 
at that particular hour which is neither noon nor after- 
noon, wherein even busy men do nothing, "that shows 
how a chap can go about London as if he were merely an 
ant that had strayed into another ant-heap than his 
own. Nobody notices." 

"You'd better go and read up a little elementary en- 
tomology, Breton," said Spargo. "I don't know much 
about it myself, but I've a pretty good idea that when 
an ant walks into the highways and byways of a colony 
to which he doesn't belong he doesn't survive his intru- 
sion by many seconds." 

, "Well, you know what I mean," said Breton. "Lon- 
don's an ant-heap, isn't it? One human ant more or 
less doesn't count. This man Marbury must have gone 
about a pretty tidy lot during those six hours. He'd 
ride on a 'bus — almost certain. He'd get into a taxi- 
cab — I think that's much more certain, because it would 
be a novelty to him. He'd want some tea — anyway, 
he'd be sure to want a drink, and he'd turn in somewhere 
to get one or the other. He'd buy things in shops — 
these Colonials always do. He'd go somewhere to get 
his dinner. He'd — but what's the use of enumeration in 
this case?" 

"A mere piling up of platitudes," answered Spargo. 

"What I mean is," continued Breton, "that piles of 
people must have seen him, and yet it's now hours and 
hours since your paper came out this morning, and no- 



THE LEATHER BOX 91 

body's come forward to tell anything. And when you 
came to think of it, why should they? Who'd remem- 
ber an ordinary man in a grey tweed suit?" 

" 'An ordinary man in a grey tweed suit,' " repeated 
Spargo. "Good line. You haven't any copyright in 
it, remember. It would make a good cross-heading." 

Breton laughed. "You're a queer chap, Spargo," he 
said. "Seriously, do you think you're getting any 
nearer anything?" 

"I'm getting nearer something with everything that's 
done," Spargo answered. "You can't start on a busi- 
ness like this without evolving something out of it, you 
know." 

"WeU," said Breton, "to me there's not so much 
mystery in it. Mr. Aylmore's explained the reason why 
my address was found on the body; Criedir, the stamp- 
man, has explained " 

Spargo suddenly looked up. 

"What?" he said sharply. 

"Why, the reason of Marbury's being found where 
he was found, ' ' replied Breton. ' ' Of course, I see it all ! 
Marbury was mooning around Fleet Street; he slipped 
into Middle Temple Lane, late as it was, just to see 
vihere old Cardlestone hangs out, and he was set upon 
and done for. The thing's plain to me. The only thing 
now is to find who did it." 

"Yes, that's it," agreed Spargo. "That's it." He 
turned over the leaves of the diary which lay on his desk. 
"By the by," he said, looking up with some interest, 
"the adjourned inquest is at eleven o'clock tomorrow 
morning. Are you going?" 



02 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I shall certainly go," answered, Breton. "What's 
more, I'm going to take Miss Aylmore and her sister. 
As the gruesome details were over at the first sitting, 
and as there'll be nothing but this new evidence to- 
morrow, and as they've never been in a coroner's court 

"Mr. Aylmore '11 be the principal witness tomorrow," 
interrupted Spargo. "I suppose he'll be able to tell a 
lot more than he told — ^me. ' ' 

Breton shrugged his shoulders. 

"I don't see that there's much more to tell," he said. 
"But," he added, with a sly laugh, "I suppose you want 
some more good copy, eh?" 

Spargo glanced at his watch, rose, and picked up his 
hat. "I'll tell you what I want," he said. "I want to 
know who John Marbury was. That would make good 
copy. Who he was — twenty — twenty-five — forty years 
ago. Eh?" 

"And you tliink Mr. Aylmore can tell ? ' ' ask^d Breton. 

"Mr. Aylmore," answered Spargo as they walked to- 
wards the door, "is the only person I have met so far 
who has admitted that he knew John Marbury in the 
— past. But he didn't tell me — much. Perhaps he'll 
tell the coroner and his jury — ^more. Now, I'm o£. 
Breton — I 've an appointment. ' ' 

And leaving Breton to find his own way out, Spargo 
hurried away, jumped into a taxi-cab and speeded to the 
London and Universal Safe Deposit. At the comer of 
its building he found Rathbury awaiting him. 

"Well?" said Spargo, as he sprang out: "How is 
it?" 



THE LEATHER BOX 93 

"It's all right," answered Rathbury. "You can be 
present : I got the necessary permission. As there are 
no relations known, there'll only be one or two officials 
and you, and the Safe Deposit people, and myself. 
Come on — it 's about time. ' ' 

"It sounds," observed Spargo, "like an exhumation." 

Rathbury laughed. "Well, we're certainly going to 
dig up a dead man's secrets," he said. "At least, we 
may be going to do so. In my opinion, Mr. Spargo, 
we'll find some clue in this leather box." 

Spargo made no answer. They entered the office, to 
be shown into a room where were already assembled Mr. 
Myerst, a gentleman who turned out to be the chairman 
of the company, and the officials of whom Rathbury had 
spoken. And in another moment Spargo heard the 
chairman explaining that the company possessed dupli- 
cate keys to all safes, and that the proper authorization 
having been received from the proper authorities, those 
present would now proceed to the safe recently tenanted 
by the late Mr. John Marbury, and take from it the 
property which he himself had deposited there, a small 
leather box, which they would afterwards bring to 
that room and cause to be opened in each other's pres- 
ence. 

It seemed to Spargo that there was an unending un- 
locking of bolts and bars before he and his fellow-pro- 
cessionists came to the safe so recently rented by the 
late Mr. John Marbury, now undoubtedly deceased. 
And at first sight of it, he saw that it was so small aoi 
affair that it seemed ludicrous to imagine that it could 
contain anything of any importance. In fact, it looked 



94 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

to be no more than a plain wooden locker, one amongst 
many in a small strong room : it reminded Spargo irre- 
sistibly of the locker in which, in his school days, he had 
kept his personal belongings and the jam tarts, sausage 
rolls, and hardbake smuggled in from the tuck-shop. 
Marbury's name had been newly painted upon it; the 
paint was scarcely dry. But when the wooden door — 
the front door, as it were, of this temple of mystery, 
had been solemnly opened by the chairman, a formidable 
door of steel was revealed, and expectation still leapt 
in the bosoms of the beholders. 

"The duplicate key, Mr. Myerst, if you please," com- 
manded the chairman, "the duplicate key!" 

Myerst, who was fully as solemn as his principal, pro- 
duced a curious-looking key: the chairman lifted his 
hand as if he were about to christen a battleship: the 
steel door swung slowly back. And there, in a two-foot 
square cavity, lay the leather box. 

It struck Spargo as they filed back to the secretary's 
room that the procession became more funereal-like than 
ever. First walked the chairman, abreast with the high 
oflScial, who had brought the necessary authorization 
from the all-powerful quarter ; then came Myerst carry- 
ing the box: followed two other gentlemen, both legal 
lights, charged with watching official and police inter- 
ests; Rathbury and Spargo brought up the rear. He 
whispered something of his notions to the detective; 
Rathbury nodded a comprehensive understanding. 

"Let's hope we're going to see— something ! " he said. 

In the secretary's room a man waited who touched his 
forelock respectfully as the heads of the procession en- 



THE LEATHER BOX 95 

tered, Myerst set the box on the table: the man made 
a musical jingle of keys : the other members of the pro- 
cession gathered round. 

"As we naturally possess no key to this box," an- 
nounced the chairman in grave tones, "it becomes our 
duty to employ professional assistance in opening it. 
Jobson!" 

He waved a hand, and the man of the keys stepped 
forward with alacrity. He examined the lock of the 
box with a knowing eye ; it was easy to see that he was 
anxious to faU upon it. While he considered matters, 
Spargo looked at the box. It was pretty much what it 
had been described to him as being ; a small, square box 
of old cow-hide, very strongly made, much worn and 
tarnished, fitted with a handle projecting from the lid, 
and having the appearance of having been hidden away 
somewhere for many a long day. 

There was a click, a spring : Jobson stepped back. 

"That's it, if you please, sir," he said. 

The chairman motioned to the high official. 

"If you would be good enough to open the box, sir," 
he said. ' ' Our duty is now concluded. ' ' 

As the high official laid his hand on the lid the other 
men gathered round with craning necks and expectant 
eyes. The lid was lifted: somebody sighed deeply. 
And Spargo pushed his own head and eyes nearer. 

The box was empty! 

Empty, as anything that can be empty is empty! 
thought Spargo : there was literally nothing in it. They 
were all staring into the interior of a plain, time-worn 
little receptacle, lined out with old-fashioned chintz 



96 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

stuff, such as our Mid- Victorian fore-fathers were fa- 
miliar with, and containing — nothing. 

"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the chairman. 
"This is — dear me! — why, there is nothing in the box!" 

"That," remarked the high official, drily, "appears 
to be obvious." 

The chairman looked at the secretary. 

"I understood the box was valuable, Mr. Myerst," he 
■ said, with the half -injured air of a man who considers 
himself to have been robbed of an exceptionally fine treat. 
"Valuable!" 

Myerst coughed. 

"I can only repeat what I have already said. Sir 
Benjamin," he answered. "The — er late Mr. Marbury 
spoke of the deposit as being of great value to him ; he 
never permitted it out of his hand until he placed it in 
the safe. He appeared to regard it as of the greatest 
value. ' ' 

"But we understand from the evidence of Mr. Criedir, 
given to the Watchman newspaper, that it was full of 
papers and — and other articles," said the chairman. 
"Criedir saw papers in it about an hour before it was 
brought here." 

Myerst spread out his hands. 

"I can only repeat what I have said. Sir Benjamin," 
he answered. "I know nothing more." 

"But why should a man deposit an empty box?" be- 
gan the chairman. "I " 

The high official interposed. 

" That the box is empty is certain," he observed. 
"Did you ever handle it yourself, Mr. Myerst?" 



THE LEATHER BOX 97 

Myerst smiled in a superior fashion. 

"I have already observed, sir, that from the time the 
deceased entered this room until the moment he placed 
the box in the safe which he rented, the box was never 
out of his hands, ' ' he replied. 

Then there was silence. At last the high official 
turned to the chairman. 

"Very well," he said. "We've made the enquiry. 
Rathbury, take the box away with you and lock it up 
at the Yard." 

So Spargo went out with Rathbury and the box ; and 
saw excellent, if mystifying, material for the article 
which had already become the daily feature of his paper. 



CHAPTER ELEVEN 

MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 

It seemed to Spargo as he sat listening to the proceed- 
ings at the adjourned inquest next day that the whole 
story of what was now world-famous as the Middle 
Temple Murder Case was being reiterated before him for 
the thousandth time. There was not a detail of the 
story with which he had not become familiar to fulness. 
The first proceeding before the coroner had been of a 
merely formal nature ; these were thorough and exhaus- 
tive; the representative of the Crown and twelve good 
men and true of the City of London were there to hear 
and to find out and to arrive at a conclusion as to how 
the man known as John Marbury came by his death. 
And although he knew all about it, Spargo found him- 
self tabulating the evidence in a professional manner, 
and noting how each successive witness contributed, as 
it were, a chapter to the story. The story itself ran 
quite easily, naturally, consecutively — you could make it 
in sections. And Spargo, sitting merely to listen, made 
them: 

1. The Temple porter and Constable DriscoU proved 

the finding of the body. 

2. The police surgeon testified as to the cause of 

death — the man had been struck down from be- 

98 



MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 99 

hind by a blow, a terrible blow — from some heavy 
instrument, and had died immediately. 

3. The police and the mortuary officials proved that 

when the body was examined nothing was found 
in the clothing but the now famous scrap of grey 
paper. 

4. Rathbury proved that by means of the dead man's 

new fashionable cloth cap, bought at Fiskie's 
well-known shop in the West-End, he traced 
Marbury to the Anglo-Orient Hotel in the Water- 
loo District. 

5. Mr. and Mrs. Walters gave evidence of the arrival 

of Marbury at the Anglo-Orient Hotel, and of his 
doings while he was in and about there. 

6. The purser of the ss. Wambarino proved that Mar- 

bury sailed from Melbourne to Southampton on 
that ship, excited no remark, behaved himself Uke 
any other well-regulated passenger, and left the 
Wamiarino at Southampton early in the morn- 
ing of what was to be the last day of his life in 
just the ordinary manner. 

7. Mr. Criedir gave evidence of his rencontre with 

Marbury in the matter of the stamps. 

8. Mr. Myerst told of Marbury 's visit to the Safe De- 

posit, and further proved that the box which he 
placed there proved, on official examination, to 
be empty. 

9. WilHam Webster re-told the story of his encounter 

with Marbury in one of the vestibules of the 
House of Commons, and of his witnessing the 
meeting between him and the gentleman whom 



100 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

he (Webster) now knew to be Mr. Aylmore, a 

Member of Parliament. 
All this led up to the appearance of Mr. Aylmore, M.P., 
in the witness-box. And Spargo knew and felt that it 
was that appearance for which the crowded court was 
waiting. Thanks to his own vivid and realistic specials 
in the Watchman, everybody there had already become 
well and thoroughly acquainted with the mass of evi- 
dence represented by the nine witnesses who had been 
in the box before Mr. Aylmore entered it. They were 
familiar, too, with the facts which Mr. Aylmore had per- 
mitted Spargo to print after the interview at the club, 
which Ronald Breton arranged. Why, then, the ex- 
traordinary interest which the Member of Parliament's 
appearance aroused? For everybody was extraordinar- 
ily interested; from the Coroner downwards to the last 
man who had managed to squeeze himself into the last 
available inch of the public gallery, all who were there 
wanted to hear and see the man who met Marbury un- 
der such dramatic circumstances, and who went to his 
hotel with him, hobnobbed with him, gave him advice, 
walked out of the hotel with him for a stroll from which 
Marbury never returned. Spargo knew well why the in- 
terest was so keen — everybody knew that Aylmore was 
the only man who could tell the court anything really 
pertinent about Marbury, who he was, what he was 
after; what his life had been. 

He looked round the court as the Member of Parlia- 
ment entered the witness-box — a tall, handsome, per- 
fectly-groomed man, whose beard was only slightly tinged 
with grey, whose figure was as erect as a well-drilled 



MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 101 

soldier's, who carried about him aa air of conscious 
power. Aylmore's two daughters sat at a little distance 
away, opposite Spargo, with Ronald Breton in attendance 
upon them; Spargo had encountered their glance as 
they entered the court, and they had given him a friendly 
nod and smile. He had watched them from time to 
time; it was plain to him that they regarded the whole 
affair as a novel sort of entertainment ; they might have 
been idlers in some Eastern bazaar, listening to the un- 
folding of many tales from the professional tale-tellers. 
Now, as their father entered the box, Spargo looked at 
them again ; he saw nothing more than a little heighten- 
ing of colour in their cheeks, a little brightening of 
their eyes. , 

"All that they feel," he thought, "is a bit of extra 
excitement at the idea that their father is mixed up in 
this delightful mystery. Um! Well — now how much 
is he mixed up?" 

And he turned to the witness-box and from that mo- 
ment never took his eyes off the man who now stood in 
it. For Spargo had ideas about the witness which he 
was anxious to develop. 

The folk who expected something immediately sensa- 
tional in Mr. Aylmore's evidence were disappointed. 
Aylmore, having been sworn, and. asked a question or 
two by the Coroner, requested permission to tell> in his 
own way, what he knew of the dead man and of this 
sad affair ; and having received that permission, he went 
on in a calm, unimpassioned manner to repeat precisely 
what he had told Spargo. It sounded a very plain, 
ordinary story. He had known Marbury many years 



lOa THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

ago. He had lost sight of him for — oh, quite twenty 
years. He had met him accidentally in one of the vesti- 
bules of the House of Commons on the evening preced- 
ing the murder. Marbury had asked his advice. Hav- 
ing no particular duty, and willing to do an old ac- 
quaintance- a good turn, he had gone back to the Anglo- 
Orient Hotel with Marbury, had remained awhile with 
him in his room, examining his Australian diamonds, 
and had afterwards gone out with him. He had given 
him the advice he wanted; they had strolled across 
Waterloo Bridge; shortly afterwards they had parted. 
That was all he knew. 

The court, the public, Spargo, everybody there, knew 
all this already. It had been in print, under a big 
headline, in the Watchman. Aylmore had now told it 
again; having told it, he seemed to consider that his 
next step was to leave the box and the court, and after 
a perfunctory question or two from the Coroner and the 
foreman of the jury he made a motion as if to step down. 
But Spargo, who had been aware since the beginning of 
the enquiry of the presence of a certain eminent counsel 
who represented the Treasury, cocked his eye in that 
gentleman 's direction, and was not surprised to see him 
rise in his well-known, apparently indifferent fashion, 
fix his monocle in his right eye, and glance at the tall 
figure in the witness-box. 

"The fun is going to begin," muttered Spargo. 

The Treasury representative looked from Aylmore to 
the Coroner and made a jerky bow ; from the Coroner 
to Aylmore and straightened himself. He. looked like 
a man who is going to ask indifferent questions about the 



MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 103 

state of the weather, or how Smith's wife was last time 
you heard of her, or if stocks are likely to rise or fall. 
But Spargo had heard this man before, and he knew 
many signs of his in voice and manner and glance. 

"I want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Aylmore, 
about your acquaintanceship with the dead man. It 
was an acquaintanceship of some time ago?" began the 
suave, seemingly careless voice. 

"A considerable time ago," answered Aylmore. 

"How long — roughly speaking?" 

"I should say from twenty to twenty-two or three 
years. ' ' 

"Never saw him during that time until you met ac- 
cidentally in the way you have described to us ? " 

"Never." 

"Ever heard from him?" 

"No." 

' ' Ever heard of him ? ' ' 

"No." 

"But when you met, you knew each other at once?" 

"Well — almost at once." 

"Almost at once. Then, I take it, you were very well 
known to each other twenty or twenty-two years ago?" 

"We were — yes, well known to each other." 

"Close friends?" 

"I said we were acquaintances." 

"Acquaintances. What was his name when you knew 
him at that time?" 

' ' His name ? It was— Marbury. ' ' 

"Marbury — the same name. Where did you know 
him?" 



104 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I — oh, here in London." 

"What was he?" 

"Do you mean — what was his occupation?" 

"What was his occupation?" 

"I believe he was concerned in financial matters." 

"Concerned in financial matters. Had you dealings 
with him?" 

"Well, yes — on occasions." 

"What was his business address in London?" 

"I can't remember that." 

"What was his private address?" 

"That I never knew." 

"Where did you transact your business with him?" 

"Well, we met, now and then." 

"Where? What place, office, resort?" 

"I can't remember particular places. Sometimes— 
in the City." 

"In the City. Where in the City? Mansion House, 
or Lombard Street, or St. Paul's Churchyard, or the 
Old Bailey, or where?" 

"I have recollections of meeting him outside the Stock 
Exchange. ' ' 

" Oh ! Was he a member of that institution ? ' ' 

"Not that I know of." 

"Were you?" 

"Certainly not!" 

"What were the dealings that you had with him?" 

"Financial dealings — small ones." 

"How long did your acquaintanceship with him last 
— what period did it extend over?" 
"I should say about six months to nine months." 



MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED 105 

"No more?" 

"Certainly no more." 

"It was quite a slight acqu£iintancesliip, then?" 

"Oh, quite!" 

"And yet, after losing sight of this merely slight ac- 
quaintance for over twenty years, you, on meeting him, 
take great interest in him ? ' ' 

"Well, I was willing to do him a good turn, I was in- 
terested in what he told me the other evening." 

"I see. Now you will not object to my asking you a 
personal question or two. You are a public man, and 
the facts about the lives of public men are more or less 
public property. You are represented in this work of 
popular reference as coming to this country in 1902, 
from Argentina, where you made a considerable fortune. 
You have told us, however, that you were in London, 
acquainted with Marbury, about the years, say 1890 to 
1892. Did you then leave England soon after knowing 
Marbury?" 

"I did. I left England in 1891 or 1892—1 am not 
sure which." 

"We are wanting to be very sure about this matter, 
Mr. Aylmore. We want to solve the important ques- 
tion — ^who is, who was John Marbury, and how did he 
come by his death? You seem to be the only available 
person who knows anything about him. What was your 
business before you left England?" 

"I was interested in financial affairs." 

"Like Marbury. Where did you carry on your busi- 
ness?" 

"In London, of course." 



106 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"At what address?" 

For some moments Aylmore had been growing more 
and more restive. His brow had flushed ; his moustache 
had begun to twitch. And now he squared his shoulders 
and faced his questioner defiantly. 

"I resent these questions about my private affairs!" 
he snapped out. 

"Possibly. But I must put them. I repeat my last 
question." 

"And I refuse to answer it." 

' ' Then I ask you another. Where did you live in Lon- 
don at the time you are telling us of, when you knew 
John Marbury?" 

' ' I refuse to answer that question also ! ' ' 

The Treasury Counsel sat down and looked at the 
Coroner. 



CHAPTER TWELVE 

THE NEW WITNESS 

The voice of the Coroner, bland, suave, deprecating, 
broke the silence. He was addressing the witness. 

"I am sure, Mr. Aylmore," he said, "there is no wish 
to trouble you with unnecessary questions. But we are 
here to get at the truth of this matter of John Marbury's 
death, and as you are the only witness we have had who 
knew him personally " 

Aylmore turned impatiently to the Coroner. 

"I have every wish to respect your authority, sir!" 
he exclaimed. "And I have told you all that I know of 
Marbury and of what happened when I met him the 
other evening. But I resent being questioned on my pri- 
vate affairs of twenty years ago — I very much resent 
it ! Any question that is really pertinent I will answer, 
but I will not answer questions that seem to me wholly 
foreign to the scope of this enquiry." 

The Treasury Counsel rose again. His manner had 
become of the quietest, and Spargo again became keenly 
attentive. 

"Perhaps I can put a question or two to Mr. Aylmore 
which will not yield him offence," he remarked drily. 
He turned once more to the witness, regarding him as 
if with interest. "Can you tell us of any person now 

107 



108 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

living who knew Marbury in London at the time under 
discussion — twenty to twenty-two or three years ago?" 
he asked. 

Aylmore shook his head angrily. 

"No, I can't," he replied. 

"And yet you and he must have had several business 
acquaintances at that time who knew you both ? ' ' 

"Possibly — at that time. But when I returned to 
England my business and my life lay in different direc- 
tions to those of that time. I don't know of anybody 
who knew Marbury then — anybody." 

The Counsel turned to a clerk who sat behind him, 
whispered to him ; Spargo saw the clerk make a sidelong 
motion of his head towards the door of the court. The 
Counsel looked again at the witness. 

' ' One more question. You told the court a little time 
since that you parted with Marbury on the evening 
preceding his death at the end of Waterloo Bridge — 
at, I think you said, a quarter to twelve. ' ' 

"About that time." 

"And at that place?" 

"Yes." 

"That is all I want to ask you, Mr. Aylmore — ^just 
now," said the Counsel. He turned to the Coroner. 
"I am going to ask you, sir, at this point to call a wit- 
ness who has volunteered certain evidence to the police 
authorities this morning. That evidence is of a very 
important nature, and I think that this is the stage at 
which it ought to be given to you and the jury. If you 
would be pleased to direct that David Lyell be called 



THE NEW WITNESS 109 

Spargo turned instinctively to the door, having seen 
the clerk who had sat behind the Treasury Counsel make 
his way there. There came into view, ushered by the 
clerk, a smart-looking, alert, self-confident young man, 
evidently a Scotsman, who, on the name of David Lyell 
being called, stepped jauntily and readily into the place 
which the member of Parliament just vacated. He took 
the oath — Scotch fashion — with the same readiness and 
turned easily to the Treasury Counsel. And Spargo, 
glancing quickly round, saw that the court was breath- 
less with anticipation, and that its anticipation was that 
the new witness was going to tell something which re- 
lated to the evidence just given by Aylmore. 

"Your name is David Lyell?" 

"That is my name, sir." 

"And you reside at 23, Cumbrae Side, Kilmarnock, 
Scotland?" 

"I do." 

"What are you, Mr. Lyell?" 

"Traveller, sir, for the firm of Messrs. Stevenson, 
Robertson & Soutar, distillers, of Kilmarnock." 

"Your duties take you, I think, over to Paris occa- 
sionally?" 

"They do — once every six weeks I go to Paris." 

"On the evening of June 21st last were you in Lon- 
don on your way to Paris?" 

"I was." 

"I believe you stayed at De Keyser's Hotel, at the 
Blackfriars end of the Embankment?" 

"I did — ^it's handy for the continental trains." 

"About half -past eleven, or a little later, that evening, 



110 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

did you go along the Embankment, on the Temple Gar- 
dens side, for a walk?" 

"I did, sir. I'm a bad sleeper, and it's a habit of mine 
to take a walk of half an hour or so last thing before I 
go to bed. ' ' 

"How far did you walk?" 

"As far as Waterloo Bridge." 

"Always on the Temple side?" 

"Just so, sir — straight along on that side." 

"Very good. When you got close to Waterloo Bridge, 
did you meet anybody you knew ? ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Who?" 

"Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament." 

Spargo could not avoid a glance at the two sisters. 
The elder's head was averted; the younger was staring 
at the witness steadily. And Breton was nervously tap- 
ping his fingers on the crown of his shining silk hat. 

"Mr. Aylmore, the Member of Parliament," repeated 
the Counsel's suave, clear tones. "Oh! And how did 
you come to recognize Mr. Aylmore, Member of Parlia- 
ment?" 

"Well, sir, in this way. At home, I'm the secretary 
of our Liberal Ward Club, and last year we had a dem- 
onstration, and it fell to me to arrange with the prin- 
cipal speakers. I got Mr. Aylmore to come and speak, 
and naturally I met him several times, in London and in 
Scotland." 

' ' So that you knew him quite well ? ' ' 

"Oh yes, sir." 

' ' Do you see him now, Mr. Lyell ? ' ' 



THE NEW WITNESS 111 

Lyell smiled and half turned in the box. 

' ' Why, of course ! " he answered. ' ' There is Mr. Ayl- 
jtnore." 

"There is Mr. Aylmore. Very good. Now we go on. 
You met Mr. Aylmore close to Waterloo Bridge ? How 
close?" 

"Well, sir, to be exact, Mr. Aylmore came down the 
steps from the bridge on to the Embankment." 

"Alone?" 

"No." 

"Who was with him?" 

"A man, sir." 

' ' Did you know the man ? ' ' 

"No. But seeing who he was with, I took a good 
look at him. I haven't forgotten his face." 

"You haven't forgotten his face. Mr. Lyell — has any- 
thing recalled that face to you within this last day or 
two?" 

"Yes, sir, indeed!" 

"What?" 

"The picture of the man they say was murdered — 
John Marbury." 

"You're sure of that?" 

"I'm as certain, sir, as that my name's what it is." 

"It is your belief that Mr. Aylmore, when you met 
him, was accompanied by the man who, according to the 
photographs, was John Marbury?" 

"It is, sir!" 

"Very well. Now, having seen Mr. Aylmore and his 
companion, what did you do ? " 

"Oh, I just turned and walked after them." 



112 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"You walked after them? They were going east- 
ward, then?" 

"They were walking by the way I'd come." 

"You followed them eastward?" 

"I did — I was going back to the hotel, you see." 

"What were they doing?" 

"Talking uncommonly earnestly, sir." 

"How far did you follow them?" 

"I followed them until they came to the Embank- 
ment lodge of Middle Temple Lane, sir. ' ' 

"And then?" | 

"Why, sir, they turned in there, and I went straight 
on to De Keyser's, and to my bed." 

There was a deeper silence in court at that moment 
than at any other period of the long day, and it grew 
still deeper when the quiet, keen voice put the next ques- 
tion. 

"You swear on your oath that you saw Mr. Aylmore 
take his companion into th:. Temple by the Embankment 
entrance of Middle Temp'e Lane on the occasion in 
question ? ' ' 

"I do! I could swear no other, sir." 

"Can you tell us, as near as possible, what time that 
would be?" 

"Yes. It was, to a minute or so, about five minutes 
past twelve." 

The Treasury Counsel nodded to the Coroner, and 
the Coroner, after a whispered conference with the 
foreman of the jury, looked at the witness. 

"You have only just given this information to the 
police, I understand?" he said. 



THE NEW WITNESS 113 

"Yes, sir. I have been in Paris, and in Amiens, and 
I only returned by this morning's boat. As soon as I 
had read all the news in the papers — ^the English papers 
— and seen the dead man 's photographs I determined to 
tell the police what I knew, and I went to New Scot- 
land Yard as soon as I got to London this morning. ' ' 

Nobody else wanted to ask Mr. David Lyell any ques- 
tions, and he stepped down. And Mr, Aylmore sud- 
denly came forward again, seeking the Coroner's atten- 
tion. 

"May 1 be allowed to make an explanation, sir?" he 
began. "I " 

But the Treasury Counsel was on his feet, this time 
stern and implacable. "I would point out, sir, that 
you have had Mr. Aylmore in the box, and that he was 
not then at all ready to give explanations, or even to 
answer questions," he said. "And before you allow 
him to make any explanation now, I ask you to hear 
another witness whom I wish to interpose at this stage. 
That witness is " 

Mr. Aylmore turned almost angrily to the Coroner. 

''After the evidence of the last witness, I think I have 
a right to be heard at once!" he said with emphasis. 
"As matters stand at present, it looks as if I had trifled, 
sir, with you and the jury, whereas if I am allowed to 
make an explanation " 

"I must respectfully ask that before Mr. Aylmore is 
allowed to make any explanation, the witness I have 
referred to is heard," said the Treasury Counsel sternly. 
"There are weighty reasons." 

"I am afraid you must wait a little, Mr. Aylmore, if 



114 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

you wish to give an explanation, ' ' said the Coroner. He 
turned to the Counsel. "Who is this other witness?" 
he asked. 

Aylmore stepped back. And Spargo noticed that the 
younger of his two daughters was staring, at him with 
an anxious expression. There was no distrust of her 
father in her face; she was anxious. She, too, slowly 
turned to the next witness. This man was the porter 
of the Embankment lodge of Middle Temple Lane. 
The Treasury Counsel put a straight question to him at 
once. 

"You see that gentleman," he said, pointing to Ayl- 
more. ' ' Do you know him as an inmate of the Temple ? ' ' 

The man stared at Aylmore, evidently confused. 

"Why, certainly, sir!" he answered. "Quite well, 
sir." 

"Very good. And now — what name do you know 
him by?" 

The man grew evidently more bewildered. 

"Name, sir. Why, Mr, Anderson, sir!" he replied. 
"Mr. Anderson!" 



CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

UNDER SUSPICION 

A distinct, uncontrollable murmur of surprise ran 
round the packed court as this man in the witness-box 
gave this answer. It signified many things — that there 
were people present who had expected some such dra- 
matic development; that there were others present who 
had not; that the answer itself was only a prelude to 
further developments. And Spargo, looking narrowly 
about him, saw that the answer had aroused different 
feelings in Aylmore 's two daughters. The elder one had 
dropped her face until it was quite hidden ; the younger 
was sitting bolt upright, staring at her father in utter 
and genuine bewilderment. And for the first time, Ayl- 
more made no 4'esponse to her. 

But the course of things was going steadily forward. 
There was no stopping the Treasury Counsel now; he 
was going to get at some truth in his own merciless fash- 
ion. He had exchanged one glance with the Coroner, 
had whispered a word to the solicitor who sat close by 
him, and now he turned again to the witness. 

"So you know that gentleman — ^make sure now — as 
Mr. Anderson, an inmate of the Temple?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"You don't know him by any other name?" 

115 



116 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"No, sir, I don't." 

"How long have you known him by that name?" 

"I should say two or three years, sir." 

"See him go in and out regularly?" 

"No, sir — ^not regularly." 

"How often, then?" 

"Now and then, sir — ^perhaps once a week." 

"Tell us what you know of Mr. Anderson's goings- 
in-and-out." 

"Well, sir, I might see him two nights running; then 
I mightn't see him again for perhaps a week or two. 
Irregular, as you might say, sir." 

"You say 'nights.' Do I understand that you never 
see Mr. Anderson except at night?" 

"Yes, sir. I've never seen him except at night. Al- 
ways about the same time, sir." 

"What time?" 

"Just about midnight, sir." 

"Very well. Do you remember the midnight of June 
21st-22nd?" 

"I do, sir." 

"Did you see Mr. Anderson enter then?" 

"Yes, sir, just after twelve." 

"Was he alone?" 

"No, sir; there was another gentleman with him." 

"Remember anything about that other gentleman?" 

"Nothing, sir, except that I noticed as they walked 
through, that the other gentleman had grey clothes on." 

"Had grey clothes on. You didn't see his face?" 

"Not to remember it, sir. I don't remember anything 
but what I 've told you, sir. ' ' 



UNDER SUSPICION 117 

"That is that the other gentleman wore a grey suit. 
Where did Mr. Anderson and this gentleman in the grey 
suit go when they'd passed through?" 

' ' Sti:aight up the Lane, sir. ' ' 

"Do you know where Mr. Anderson's rooms in the 
Temple are?" 

"Not exactly, sir, but I understood in Fountain 
Court." 

"Now, on that night in question, did Mr. Anderson 
leave again by your lodge ? ' ' 

"No, sir," 

"You heard of the discovery of the body of a dead 
man in Middle Temple Lane next morning?" 

"I did, sir." 

' ' Did you connect that man with the gentleman in the 
grey suit?" 

"No, sir, I didn't. It never occurred to me. A lot 
of the gentlemen who live in the Temple bring friends 
in late of nights ; I never gave the matter any particular 
thought." 

"Never mentioned it to anybody until now, when 
you were sent for to come here ? ' ' 

' ' No, sir, never, to anybody. ' ' 

' ' And you have never known the gentleman standing 
there as anybody but Mr. Anderson?" 

"No, sir, never heard any other name but Ander- 
son." 

The Coroner glanced at the Counsel. 

"I think this may be a convenient opportunity for 
Mr. Aylmore to give the explanation he offered a few 
minutes ago," he said. "Do you suggest anything?" 



118 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I suggest, sir," that if Mr. Aylmore desires to give 
any explanation, he should return to the witness-box 
and submit himself to examination again on his oath," 
replied the Counsel. "The matter is in your hands." 

The Coroner turned to Aylmore. 

"Do you object to that?" he asked. 

Aylmore stepped boldly forward and into the box. 

"I object to nothing," he said in clear tones, "except 
to being asked to reply to questions about matters of the 
past which have not and cannot have anything to do with 
this ease. Ask me what questions you like, arising out 
of the evidence of the last two witnesses, and I will 
answer them so far as I see myself justified in doing so. 
Ask me questions about matters of twenty years ago, 
and I shall answer them or not as I see fit. And I may 
as well say that I will take aU the consequences of my 
silence or my speech. ' ' 

The Treasury Counsel rose again. 

"Very well, Mr. Aylmore," he said. "I will put 
certain questions to you. You heard the evidence of 
David Lyell?" 

"I did." 

"Was that quite true as regards yourself?" 

"Quite true — absolutely true." 

"And you heard that of the last witness. "Was that 
also true?" 

"Equally true." 

"Then you admit that the evidence you gave this 
morning, before these witnesses came on the scene, was 
not true?" 



UNDER SUSPICION 119 

"No, I do not! Most emphatically I do not. It was 
true." 

"True? You told me, on oath, that you parted from 
John Marbury on Waterloo Bridge!" 

"Pardon me, I said nothing of the sort. I said that 
from the Anglo-Orient Hotel we strolled across Water- 
loo Bridge, and that shortly afterwards we parted-— I 
did not say where we parted. I see there is a shorthand 
writer here who is taking everything down — ask him if 
that is not exactly what I said ? ' ' 

A reference to the stenographer proved Aylmore to 
be right, and the Treasury Counsel showed plain an- 
noyance. 

"Well, at any rate, you so phrased your answer that 
nine persons out of ten w( ild have understood that you 
parted from Marbury in tne open streets after crossing 
Waterloo Bridge," he said. "Now — ?" 

Aylmore smiled. 

"I am not responsible for the understanding of nine 
people out of ten any more than I am for your under- 
standing," he said, with a sneer. "I said what I now 
repeat — Marbury and I walked across Waterloo Bridge, 
and shortly afterwards we parted. I told you the 
truth." 

"Indeed! Perhaps you will continue to tell us the 
truth. Since you have admitted that the evidence of 
the last two witnesses is absolutely correct, perhaps you 
will tell us exactly where you and Marbury did part?" 

"I will — willingly. We parted at the door of my 
chambers in Fountain Court." 



120 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Then — to reiterate — it was you who took Marbury 
into the Temple that night?" 

"It was certainly I who took Marbury into the Tem- 
ple that night. ' ' 

There was another murmur amongst the crowded 
benches. Here at any rate was fact — solid, substantial 
fact. And Spargo began to see a possible course of 
events which he had not anticipated. 

"That is a candid admission, Mr. Aylmore. I sup- 
pose you see a certain danger to yourself in making it." 

"I need not say whether I do or I do not. I have 
made it. ' ' 

"Very good. Why did you not make it before?" 

"For my own reasons. I told you as much as I con- 
sidered necessary for the pirpose of this enquiry. I 
have virtually altered nothing now. I asked to be al- 
lowed to make a statement, to give an explanation, as 
soon as Mr. Lyell had left this box: I was not allowed 
to do so. I am willing to make it now. ' ' 

"Make it then." 

"It is simply this," said Aylmore, turning to the 
Coroner. "I have found it convenient, during the past 
three years, to rent a simple set of chambers in the Tem- 
ple, where I could occasionally — very occasionally, as 
a rule — go late at night. I also found it convenient, 
for my own reasons — with which, I think, no one has 
anything to do — ^to rent those chambers under the name 
of Mr. Anderson. It was to my chambers that Mar- 
bury accompanied me for a few moments on the midnight 
with, which we are dealing. He was not in them more 
than five minutes at the very outside : I parted from him 



UNDER SUSPICION 121 

at my outer door, and I understood that he would leave 
the Temple by the way we had entered and would drive 
or walk straight back to his hotel. That is the whole 
truth. I wish to add that I ought perhaps to have told 
all this at first. I had reasons for not doing so. I told 
what I considered necessary, that I parted from Mar- 
bury, leaving him well and alive, soon after midnight. ' ' 

"What reasons were or are they which prevented you 
from telling all this at first?" asked the Treasury 
Counsel. 

"Reasons which are private to me." 

"Will you tell them to the court?" 

"No!" 

"Then will you tell us why Marbury went with you 
to the chambers in Fountain Court which you tenant 
under the name of Anderson?" 

' ' Yes. To fetch a document which I had in my keep- 
ing, and had kept for him for twenty years or more?" 

"A document of importance?" 

' ' Of very great importance. ' ' 

"He would have it on him when he was — as we be- 
lieve he was — murdered and robbed?" 

' ' He had it on him when he left me. ' ' 

"Will you tell us what it was?" 

"Certainly not!" 

"In fact, you won't tell us any more than you choose 
to tell?" 

"I have told you all I can tell of the events of that 
night." 

"Then I am going to ask you a very pertinent ques- 
tion. Is it not a fact that you know a great deal more 



122 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

about John Marbury than you have told this court?" 

"That I shall not answer." 

"Is it not a fact that you could, if you would, tell this 
court more about John Marbury and your acquaintance- 
ship with him twenty years ago?" 

"I also decline to answer that." 

The Treasury Counsel made a little movement of his 
shoulders and turned to the Coroner. 

"I should suggest, sir, that you adjourn this enquiry," 
he said quietly. 

"For a week," assented the Coroner, turning to the 
jury. 

The crowd surged out of the court, chattering, mur- 
muring, exclaiming — spectators, witnesses, jurymen, re- 
porters, legal folk, police folk, all miKed up together. 
And Spargo, elbowing his own way out, and busily reck- 
oning up the value of the new complexions put on every- 
thing by the day's work, suddenly felt a hand laid on 
his arm. Turning he found himself gazing at Jessie 
Aylmore. 



CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

THE SILYEE TICKET 

With a sudden instinct of protection, Spargo quickly 
drew the girl aside from the struggling crowd, and 
within a moment had led her into a quiet by-street. He 
looked down at her as she stood recovering her breath. 

"Yes?" he said quietly. 

Jessie Aylmore looked up at him, smiling faintly. 

"I want to speak to you," she said. "I must speak 
to you. ' ' 

"Yes," said Spargo. "But — the others? Your sis- 
ters—Breton?" 

"I left them on purpose to speak to you," she an- 
swered. "They knew I did. I am well accustomed to 
looking after myself." 

Spargo moved down the by-street, motioning his com- 
panion to move with him. 

"Tea," he said, "is what you want. I know a queer, 
old-fashioned place close by here where you can get the 
best China tea in London. Come and have some." 

Jessie Aylmore smiled and followed her guide obedi- 
ently. And Spargo said nothing, marching stolidly 
'along with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, his fin- 
gers playing soundless tunes outside, until he had in- 

123 



124 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

stalled himself and his companion in a quiet nook in the 
old tea-house he had told her of, and had given an order 
for tea and hot tea-cakes to a waitress who evidently 
knew him. Then he turned to her. 

"You want," he said, "to talk to me about your 
father." 

"Yes," she answered. "I do." 

"Why?" asked Spargo. 

The girl gave him a searching look. 

"Ronald Breton says you're the man who's written all 
those special articles in the Watchman about the Mar- 
bury case, ' ' she answered. ' ' Are you ? ' ' 

"I am," said Spargo. 

"Then you're a man of great influence," she went 
on. "You can stir the public mind. Mr. Spargo — 
what are you going to write about my father and to- 
day's proceedings?" 

Spargo signed to her to pour out the tea which had 
just arrived. He seized, without ceremony, upon a piece 
of the hot buttered tea-cake, and bit a great lump out 
of it. 

"Frankly," he mumbled, speaking with his mouth 
full, "frankly, I don't know. I don't know — yet. But 
I'll tell you this — it's best to be candid — I shouldn't 
allow myself to be prejudiced or biassed in making up 
my conclusions by anything that you may say to me. 
Understand?" 

Jessie Aylmore took a sudden liking to Spargo be- 
cause of the unconventionality and brusqueness of his 
manners. 

"I'm not wanting to prejudice or bias you," she said. 



THE SILVER TICKET 125 

"All I want is that you should be very sure before you 
say — anything." 

"I'll be sure," said Spargo. "Don't bother. Is the 
tea all right?" 

"Beautiful!" she answered, with a smile that made 
Spargo look at her again. "Delightful! Mr. Spargo, 
tell me ! — what did you think about — about what has just 
happened?" 

Spargo, regardless of the fact that his fingers were 
liberally ornamented with butter, lifted a hand and 
rubbed his always untidy hair. Then he ate more tea- 
cake and gulped more tea. 

"Look here ! " he said suddenly. " I 'm no great hand 
at talking. I can write pretty decently when I've a 
good story to tell, but I don't talk an awful lot, because 
I never can express what I mean unless I've got a pen 
in my hand. Frankly, I find it hard to tell you what 
I think. When I write my article this evening, I'll get 
all these things marshalled in proper form, and I shall 
write clearly about 'em. But I'll tell you one thing I 
do think — I wish your father had made a clean breast 
of things to me at first, when he gave me that interview, 
or had told everything when he first went into that box. ' ' 

"Why?" she asked. 

"Because he's now set up an atmosphere of doubt 
and suspicion around himself. People 'U think — Heaven 
knows what they'll think! They already know that he 
knows more about Marbury than he'll tell, that " 

"But does he?" she interrupted quickly. "Do you 
think he does?" 

"Yes!" replied Spargo, with emphasis. "I do. A 



126 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

lot more! If he had only been explicit at first— how- 
ever, he wasn't. Now it's done. As things stand- 
look here, does it strike you that your father is in a very 
serious position?" 

' ' Serious ? ' ' she exclaimed. 

"Dangerous! Here's the fact — he's admitted that he 
took Marbury to his rooms in the Temple that midnight. 
Well, next morning Marbury 's found robbed and mur- 
dered in an entry, not fifty yards off!" 

"Does anybody suppose that my father would murder 
him for the sake of robbing him of whatever he had on 
him?" she laughed scornfully. "My father is a very 
wealthy man, Mr. Spargo." 

' ' May be, ' ' answered Spargo. ' ' But millionaires have 
been known to murder men who held secrets." 

"Secrets!" she exclaimed. 

"Have some more tea," said Spargo, nodding at the 
teapot. "Look here — this way it is. The theory that 
people — some people — will build up (I won't say that 
it hasn't suggested itself to me) is this: — There's some 
mystery about the relationship, acquaintanceship, con- 
nection, call it what you like, of your father and Mar-, 
bury twenty odd years ago. Must be. There's some 
mystery about your father's life, twenty odd years ago. 
Must be — or else he'd have answered those questions, 
Very well. 'Ha, ha!' says the general public. 'Now 
we have it!' 'Marbury,' says the general public, 'was 
a man who had a hold on Aylmore. He turned up. 
Aylmore trapped him into the Temple, killed him to pre- 
serve his own secret, and robbed Mm of all he had on 
him as a blind.' Eh?" 



THE SILVER TICKET 127 

"You think— people will say that?" she exclaimed. 

"Cock-sure! They're saying it. Heard half a dozen 
of 'em say it, in more or less elegant fashion as I came 
out of that court. Of course, they'll say it. Why, 
what else could they say?" 

For a moment Jessie Aylmore sat looking silently into 
her tea-cup. Then she turned her eyes on Spargo, who 
immediately manifested a new interest in what remained 
of the tea-cakes. 

"Is that what you're going to say in your article to- 
night?" she asked, quietly. 

"No!" replied Spargo, promptly. "It isn't. I'm 
going to sit on the fence tonight. Besides, the case is 
suh judice. All I'm going to do is to tell, in my way, 
what took place at the inquest. " 

The girl impulsively put her hand across the table 
and laid it on Spargo 's big fist. 

"Is it what you think?" she asked in a low voice. 

"Honour bright, no!" exclaimed Spargo. "It isn't 
— it isn't! I don't think it. I think there's a most 
extraordinary mystery at the bottom of Marbury's death, 
and I think your father knows an enormous lot about 
Marbury that he won't tell, but I'm certain sure that 
he neither killed Marbury nor knows anything whatever 
about his death. And as I'm out to clear this mystery 
up, and mean to do it, nothing '11 make me more glad 
than to clear your father. I say, do have some more 
tea-cake? We'll have fresh ones — and fresh tea." 

"No, thank you," she said smiling. "And thank you 
for what you've just said. I'm going now, Mr. Spargo. 
You've done me good." 



128 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Oh, rot!" exclaimed Spargo. "Nothing— nothing! 
I've just told you what I'm thinking. You must 
go? . . ." 

He saw her into a taxi-cab presently, and when she 
had gone stood vacantly staring after the cab until a 
hand clapped him smartly on the shoulder. Turning, 
he found Eathbury grinning at him. 

' ' All right, Mr. Spargo, I saw you ! " he said. ' ' "Well, 
it's a pleasant change to squire young ladies after being 
all day in that court. Look here, are you going to start 
your writing just now ? ' ' 

"I'm not going to start my writing as you call it, until 
after I've dined at seven o'clock and given myself time 
to digest my modest dinner, ' ' answered Spargo. "What 
is it?" 

"Come back with me and have another look at that 
blessed leather box," said Rathbury. "I've got it in 
my room, and I'd like to examine it for myself. Come 
on!" 

"The thing's empty," said Spargo. 

"There might be a false bottom in it," remarked 
Rathbury. "One never knows. Here, jump into this I" 

He pushed Spargo into a passing taxi-cab, and fol- 
lowing, bade the driver go straight to the Yard. Ar- 
rived there, he locked Spargo and himself into the drab- 
visaged room in which the journalist had seen him be- 
fore. 

"What d'ye think of today's doings, Spargo?" he 
asked, as he proceeded to unlock a cupboard. 

"I think," said Spargo, "that some of you fellows 
must have had your ears set to tingling. ' ' 



THE SILVER TICKET 129 

"That's so," assented Rathbury. "Of course, the 
next thing '11 be to find out all about the Mr. Aylmore 
of twenty years since. When a man won't tell you 
where he lived twenty years ago, what he was exactly 
doing, what his precise relationship with another man 
was — why, then, you've just got to find out^ eh? Oh, 
some of our fellows are at work on the life history of 
Stephen Aylmore, Esq., M.P., already — ^you bet! Well, 
now, Spargo, here's the famous box." 

The detective brought the old leather case out of the 
cupboard in which he had been searching, and placed it 
on his desk. Spargo threw back the lid and looked in- 
side, measuring the inner capacity against the exterior 
lines. 

"No false bottom in that, Rathbury," he said. 
"There's just the outer leather case, and the inner lin- 
ing, of this old bed-hanging stuff, and that 's all. There 's 
no room for any false bottom or anything of that sort, 
d'you see?" 

Eathbury also sized up the box's capacity. 

"Looks like it," he said disappointedly. "Well, what 
about the lid, then? I remember there was an old box 
like this in my grandmother's farmhouse, where I was 
reared — ^there was a pocket in the lid. Let's see if 
there 's anything of the sort here ? " 

He threw the lid back and began to poke about the 
lining of it with the tips of his fingers, and presently he 
turned to his companion with a sharp exclamation. 

' ' By George, Spargo ! " he said. ' ' I don 't know about 
any pocket, but there's something under this lining. 
Peels like— here, you feel. There— and there." 



130 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo put a finger on the places indicated. 

"Yes, that's so," he agreed. "Feels like two cards— 
a large and a small one. And the small one's harder 
than the other. Better cut that lining out, Rathbury." 

"That," remarked Rathbury, producing a pen-knife, 
"is just what I'm going to do. We'll cut along this 
seam." 

He ripped the lining carefully open along the upper 
part of the lining of the lid, and looking into the pocket 
thus made, drew out two objects which he dropped on 
his blotting pad. 

"A child's photograph," he said, glancing at one of 
them. "But what on earth is that?" 

The object to which he pointed was a small, oblong 
piece of thin, much-worn silver, about the size of a rail- 
way ticket. On one side of it was what seemed to be a 
heraldic device or coat-of-arms, almost obliterated by 
rubbing ; on the other, similarly worn down by friction, 
was the figure of a horse. 

"That's a curious object," remarked Spargo, picking 
it up. "I never saw anything like that before. What 
can it be?" 

"Don't know — I never saw anything of the sort 
either," said Rathbury. "Some old token, I should say. 
Now this photo. Ah — ^you see, the photographer's name 
and address have been torn away or broken off — ^there's 
nothing left but just two letters of what's apparently 
been the name of the town — see. Er — ^that's all there 
is. Portrait of a baby, eh?" 

Spargo gave, what might have been called in anybody 
else but him, a casual glance at the baby's portrait. He 



THE SILVER TICKET 131 

picked up the silver ticket again and turned it over and 
over. 

"Look here, Rathbury," he said. "Let me take this 
silver thing. I know where I can find out what it is. 
At least, I think I do." 

' ' All right, ' ' £^reed the detective, ' ' but take the great- 
est care of it, and don't tell a soul that we found it iu 
this box, you know. No connection with the Marbury 
case, Spargo, remember." 

"Oh, all right," said Spargo. "Trust me." 

He put the silver ticket in his pocket, and went back 
to the office, wondering about this singular find. And 
when he had written his article that evening, and seen a 
proof of it, Spargo went into Fleet Street intent on 
seeking peculiar information. 



CHAPTER ilFTEEN 

MARKET MILCASTER 

The haunt of well-informed men which Sparge had in 
view when he turned out of the Watchman office lay well 
hidden from ordinary sight and knowledge in one of 
those Fleet Street courts the like of which is not else- 
where in the world. Only certain folk knew of it. It 
was, of course, a club ; otherwise it would not have been 
what it was. It is the simplest thing in life, in Eng- 
land, at any rate, to form a club of congenial spirits. 
You get so many of your choice friends and acquaint- 
ances to gather round you ; you register yourselves under 
a name of your own choosing ; you take a house and fur- 
nish it according to your means and your taste : you com- 
ply with the very easy letter of the law, and there you 
are. Keep within that easy letter, and you can do what 
you please on your own premises. It is much more 
agreeable to have a small paradise of your own of this 
description than to lounge about Fleet Street bars. 

The particular club to which Spargo bent his steps 
was called the Oetoneumenoi. Who evolved this extraor- 
dinary combination of Latin and Greek was a dark 
mystery: there it was, however, on a tiny brass plate 
you once reached the portals. The portals were gained 
by devious ways. You turned out of Fleet Street by an 
alley so narrow that it seemed as if you might suddenly 

132 _ 



MARKET MILCASTER 133 

find yourself squeezed between the ancient walls. Then 
you suddenly dived down another alley and found your- 
self in a small court, with high walls around you and a 
smell of printer's ink in your nose and a whirring of 
printing presses in your ears. You made another dive 
into a dark entry, much encumbered by bales of paper, 
crates of printing material, jars of printing ink; after 
falling over a few of these you struck an ancient flight 
of stairs and went up past various landings, always 
travelling in a state of gloom and fear. After a lot of 
twisting and turning you came to the very top of the 
house and found it heavily curtained off. You lifted a 
curtain and found yourself in a small entresol, some- 
what artistically painted — the whole and sole work of 
an artistic member who came one day with a formidable 
array of lumber and paint-pots and worked his will on 
the ancient wood. Then you saw the brass plate and 
its fearful name, and beneath it the formal legal notice 
that this club was duly registered and so on, and if you 
were a member you went in, and if you weren't a mem- 
ber you tinkled an electric bell and asked to see a mem- 
ber — if you knew one. 

Spargo was not a member, but he knew many members, 
and he tinkled the bell, and asked the boy who answered 
it for Mr. Starkey. Mr. Starkey, a young gentleman 
with the biceps of a prize-fighter and a head of curly 
hair that would have done credit to Antinous, came 
forth in due course and shook Spargo by the hand until 
his teeth rattled. 

"Had we known you were coming," said Mr. Starkey, 
"we'd have had a brass band on the stairs." 



134. THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I want to come in," remarked Spargo. 

"Sure!" said Mr. Starkey. "That's what you've 
come for." 

"Well, stand out of the way, then, and let's get in," 
said Spargo. ' ' Look here, ' ' he continued when they had 
penetrated into a small vestibule, "doesn't old Crow- 
foot turn in here about this time every night ? ' ' 

"Every night as true as the clock, my son Spargo, 
Crowfoot puts his nose in at precisely eleven, having by 
that time finished that daily column wherein he informs 
a section of the populace as to the prospects of their 
spotting a winner tomorrow," answered Mr. Starkey. 
"It's five minutes to his hour now. Come in and drink 
till he comes. Want him?" 

"A word with him," answered Spargo. "A mere 
word — or two. ' ' 

He followed Starkey into a room which was so filled 
with smoke and sound that for a moment it was im- 
possible to either see or hear. But the smoke was gradu- 
ally making itself into a canopy, and beneath the canopy 
Spargo made out various groups of men of all ages, 
sitting around small tables, smoking and drinking, and 
all talking as if the great object of their lives was to get 
as many words as possible out of their mouths in the 
shortest possible time. In the further corner was a 
small bar; Starkey pulled Spargo up to it. 

"Name it, my son," commanded Starkey. "Try the 
Octoneumenoi very extra special. Two of 'em, Dick. 
Come to beg to be a member, Spargo ? ' ' 

" I '11 think about being a member of this ante-room of 
the infernal regions when you start a ventilating fan 



MARKET MILCASTER 135 

and provide members with a route-map of the way from 
Fleet Street," answered Spargo, taking his glass. 
"Phew! — ^what an atmosphere!" 

"We're considering a ventilating-f an, " said Starkey. 
"I'm on the house committee now, and I brought that 
very matter up at our last meeting. But Templeson, of 
the Bulletin — ^you know Templeson — he says what we 
want is a wine-cooler to stand under that sideboard — 
says no club is proper without a wine-cooler, and that 
he knows a chap — second-hand dealer, don't you know — 
what has a beauty to dispose of in old Sheffield plate. 
Now, if you were on our house committee, Spargo, old 
man, would you go in for the wine-cooler or the ventilat- 
ing fan ? You see ' ' 

"There is Crowfoot," said Spargo. "Shout him over 
here, Starkey, before anybody else collars him." 

Through the door by which Spargo had entered a few 
minutes previously came a man who stood for a moment 
blinking at the smoke and the lights. He was a tall, eld- 
erly man with a figure and bearing of a soldier; a big, 
sweeping moustache stood well out against a square-cut 
jaw and beneath a prominent nose ; a pair of keen blue 
eyes looked out from beneath a tousled mass of crinkled 
hair. He wore neither hat nor cap ; his attire was a care- 
lessly put on Norfolk suit of brown tweed ; he looked half- 
unkempt, half-groomed. But knotted at the collar of 
his flannel shirt were the colours of one of the most fa- 
mous and exclusive cricket clubs in the world, and every- 
body knew that in his day their wearer had been a 
mighty figure in the public eye. 

"Hi, Crowfoot!" shouted Starkey above the din and 



186 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

babel. "Crowfoot, Crowfoot! Come over here, there's 
a chap dying to see you ! " 

' ' Yes, that 's the way to get him, isn 't it « " said Spargo. 
"Here, I'll get him myself." 

He went across the room and accosted the old sport- 
ing journalist. 

"I want a quiet word with you," he said. "This 
place is like a pandemonium." 

Crowfoot led the way into a side alcove and ordered a 
drink. 

"Always is, this time," he said, yawning. "But it's 
companionable. What is it, Spargo?" 

Spargo took a pull at the gleiss which he had carried 
with him. "I should say," he said, "that you know as 
much about sporting matters as any man writing about 
'em?" 

"Well, I think you might say it with truth," answered 
Crowfoot. 

"And old sporting matters?" said Spargo. 

"Yes, and old sporting matters," replied the other 
with a sudden flash of the eye. "Not that they greatly 
interest the modern generation, you know." 

"Well, there's something that's interesting me greatly 
just now, anyway," said Spargo. "And I believe it's 
got to do with old sporting affairs. And I came to you 
for information about it, believing you to be the only 
man I know of that could tell anything. ' ' 

"Yes— what is it?" asked Crowfoot. 

Spargo drew out an envelope, and took from it the 
carefuUy-wrapped-up silver ticket. He took off the 



MARKET MILCASTER 137 

wrappings and laid the ticket on Crowfoot's outstretched 
palm. 

"Can you tell me what that is?" he asked. 

Another sudden flash came into the old sportsman's 
eyes^-he eagerly turned the silver ticket over. 

' ' God bless my soul ! " he exclaimed. ' ' Where did you 
get this?" 

"Never mind, just now," replied Spargo. "You 
know what it is?" 

' ' Certainly I know what it is ! But — Gad ! I 've not 
seen one of these things for Lord knows how many years. 
It makes me feel something like a young 'un again!" 
said Crowfoot. "Quite a young 'un!" 

"But what is it?" asked Spargo. 

Crowfoot turned the ticket over, showing the side on 
which the heraldic device was almost worn away. 

"It's one of the original silver stand tickets of the old 
racecourse at Market Mileaster," answered Crowfoot. 
"That's what it is. One of the old original silver stand 
tickets. There are the arms of Market Mileaster, you 
see, nearly worn away by much rubbing. There, on the 
obverse, is the figure of a running horse. Oh, yes, that 's 
what it is ! Bless me ! — most interesting. ' ' 

"Where's Market Mileaster?" enquired Spargo. 
"Don't know it." 

"Market Mileaster," replied Crowfoot, still turning 
the silver ticket over and over, "is what the topographers 
call a decayed town in Blmshire. It has steadily de- 
cayed since the river that led to it got gradually silted 
up. There used to be a famous race-meeting there in 



138 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

June every year. It's nearly forty years since that meet- 
ing fell through. I went to it often when I was a lad — 
often!" 

"And you say that's a ticket for the stand?" asked 
Spargo. 

"This is one of fifty silver tickets, or passes, or what- 
ever you like to call 'em, which were given by the race 
committee to fifty burgesses of the town," answered 
Crowfoot. "It was, I remember, considered a great 
privilege to possess a silver ticket. It admitted its pos- 
sessor — for life, mind you ! — to the stand, the paddocks, 
the ring, anywhere. It also gave him a place at the 
annual race-dinner. Where on earth did you get this, 
Spargo?" 

Spargo took the ticket and carefully re-wrapped it, 
this time putting it in his purse. 

"I'm awfully obliged to you, Crowfoot," he said. 
"The fact is, I can't tell you where I got it just now, 
but I'll promise you that I will tell you, and all about 
it, too, as soon as my tongue 's free to do so. ' ' 

"Some mystery, eh?" suggested Crowfoot. 

"Considerable," answered Spargo. "Don't mention 
to anyone that I showed it to you. You shall know 
everything eventually. ' ' 

"Oh, all right, my boy, all right!" said Crowfoot. 
"Odd how things turn up, isn't it? Now, I'll wager 
anything that there aren't half a dozen of these old 
things outside Market Milcaster itself. As I said, there 
were only fifty, and they were all in possession of 
burgesses. They were so much thought of that they 
were taken great care of. I've been in Market Milcaster 



MARKET MILCASTER 139 

myself since the races were given up, and I've seen these 
tickets carefully framed and hung over mantelpieces — 
oh, yes ! ' ' 

Spargo caught at a notion. 

"How do you get to Market Milcaster?" he asked. 

"Paddington," replied Crowfoot. "It's a goodish 
way." 

"I wonder," said Spargo, "if there's any old sport- 
ing man there who could remember — things. Anything 
about this ticket, for instance ? ' ' 

"Old sporting man!" exclaimed Crowfoot. "Egad! 
— but no, he must be dead — anyhow, if he isn 't dead, he 
must be a veritable patriarch. Old Ben Quarterpage, he 
was an auctioneer in the town, and a rare sportsman." 

"I may go down there," said Spargo. "I'll see if 
he's alive." 

"Then, if you do go down," suggested Crowfoot, "go 
to the old 'Yellow Dragon' in the High Street, a fine old 
place. Quarterpage 's place of business and his private 
house were exactly opposite the 'Dragon.' But I'm 
afraid you'll find him dead — it's five and twenty years 
since I was in Market Milcaster, and he was an old bird 
then. Let's see, now. If Old Ben Quarterpage is alive, 
Spargo, he'll be ninety years of age !" 

"Well, I've known men of ninety who were spry 
enough, even in my bit of experience," said Spargo. "I 
know one — now — my own grandfather. "Well, the best 
of thanks, Crowfoot, and I'll tell you all about it some 
day." 

"Have another drink?" suggested Crowfoot. 

But Spargo excused himself. He was going back to 



14^ THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

the office, be said; he still had something to do. And 
he got himself away from the Octoneumenoi, in spite of 
Starkey, who wished to start a general debate on the 
wisest way of expending the club 's ready money balance, 
and went back to the Watchman, and there he sought the 
presence of the editor, and in spite of the fact that it 
was the busiest hour of the night, saw him and remained 
closeted with him for the extraordinary space of ten 
minutes. And after that Spargo went home and fell 
into bed. 

But next morning, bright and early, he was on the 
departure platform at Paddington, suit-case in hand, 
and ticket in pocket for Market Milcaster, and in the 
course of that afternoon he found himself in an old- 
fashioned bedroom looking out on Market Milcaster High 
Street. And there, right opposite him, he saw an ancient 
house, old brick, ivy-covered, with an office at its side, 
over the door of which was the name, Benjamin Quarter- 
page. 



CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

THE "YELLOW DRAGON" 

Spargo, changing his clothes, washing away the dust 
of his journey, in that old-fashioned lavender-scented 
bedroom, busied his mind in further speculations on his 
plan of campaign in Market Milcaster. He had no par- 
ticularly clear plan. The one thing he was certain of 
was that in the old leather box which the man whom he 
knew as John Marbury had deposited with the London 
and Universal Safe Deposit Company, he and Rathbury 
had discovered one of the old silver tickets of Market 
Milcaster racecourse, and that he, Spargo, had come to 
Market Milcaster, with the full approval of his editor, 
in an endeavour to trace it. How was he going to set 
about this difficult task ? 

"The first thing," said Spargo to himself as he tied 
a new tie, "is to have a look round. That'll be no long 
job." 

For he had already seen as he approached the town, 
and as he drove from the station to the "Yellow Dragon" 
Hotel, that Market Milcaster was a very small place. It 
chiefly consisted of one long, wide thoroughfare — the 
High Street — with smaller streets leading from it on 
either side. In the High Street seemed to be every- 
thing that the town could show — ^the ancient parish 

141 



142 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

church, the town hall, the market cross, the principal 
houses and shops, the bridge, beneath which ran the 
river whereon ships had once come up to the town be- 
fore its mouth, four miles away, became impassably silted 
up. It was a bright, clean, little town, but there were few 
signs of trade in it, and Spargo had been quick to notice 
that in the "Yellow Dragon," a big, rambling old 
hostelry, reminiscent of the old coaching days, there 
seemed to be little doing. He had eaten a bit of lunch 
in the coffee-room immediately on his arrival ; the coffee- 
room was big enough to accommodate a hundred and 
fifty people, but beyond himself, an old gentleman and 
his daughter, evidently tourists, two young men talking 
golf, a man who looked like an artist, and an unmistak- 
able honeymooning couple, there was no one in it. There 
was little traflSc in the wide street beneath Spargo 's win- 
dows; little passage of people to and fro on the side- 
walks; here a countryman drove a lazy cow as lazily 
along ; there a farmer in his light cart sat idly chatting 
with an aproned tradesman, who had come out of his shop 
to talk to him. Over everything lay the quiet of the sun- 
light of the summer afternoon, and through the open 
windows stole a faint, sweet scent of the new-mown hay 
lying in the meadows outside the old houses. 

"A veritable Sleepy Hollow," mused Spargo. "Let's 
go down and see if there's anybody to talk to. Great 
Scott ! — to think that I V7as in the poisonous atmosphere 
of the Octoneumenoi only sixteen hours ago ! ' ' 

Spargo, after losing himself in various corridors and 
passages, finally landed in the wide, stone-paved hall of 
the old hotel, and vrith a sure instinct turned into the 



THK "YELLOW DRAGON" 143 

bar-parlour which he had noticed when he entered the 
place. This was a roomy, comfortable, bow-windowed 
apartment, looking out upon the High Street, and was 
furnished and ornamented with the usual appurtenances 
of country-town hotels. There were old chairs and 
tables and sideboards and cupboards, which had certainly 
been made a century before, and seemed likely to endure 
for a century or two longer; there were old prints of 
the road and the chase, and an old oil-painting or two 
of red-faced gentlemen in pink coats; there were foxes' 
masks on the wall, and a monster pike in a glass case on 
a side-table ; there were ancient candlesticks on the man- 
telpiece and an antique snuff-box set between them. 
Also there was a small, old-fashioned bar in a corner of 
the room, and a new-fashioned young woman seated be- 
hind it, who was yawning over a piece of fancy needle- 
work, and looked at Spargo when he entered as Andro- 
meda may have looked at Perseus when he made arrival 
at her rock. And Spargo, treating himself to a suitable 
drink and choosing a cigar to accompany it, noted the 
look, and dropped into the nearest chair. 

"This," he remarked, eyeing the damsel with enquiry, 
"appear^to me to be a very quiet place." 

"Quiet ! " exclaimed the lady . " Quiet ? ' ' 

"That," continued Spargo, "is precisely what I ob- 
served. Quiet. I see that you agree with me. You 
expressed your agreement with two shades of emphasis, 
the surprised and the scornful. We may conclude, thus 
far, that the place is undoubtedly quiet. ' ' 

The damsel looked at Spargo as if she considered him 
in the light of a new specimen, and picking up her 



144 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE FURDER 

needlework she quitted the bar and coming out into the 
room took a chair near his own. 

"It makes you thankful to see a funeral go by here," 
she remarked. "It's about all that one ever does see." 

"Are there many?" asked Spargo. "Do the inhabi- 
tants die much of inanition ? ' ' 

The damsel gave Spargo another critical inspection. 

"Oh, you're joking!" she said. "It's well you can. 
Nothing ever happens here. This place is a back num- 
ber." 

"Even the back numbers make pleasant reading at 
times," murmured Spargo. "And the backwaters of 
life are refreshing. Nothing doing in this town, then?" 
he added in a louder voice. 

' ' Nothing ! ' ' replied his companion. " It 's fast asleep. 
I came here from Birmingham, and I didn't know what 
I was coming to. In Birmingham you see as many peo- 
ple in ten minutes as you see here in ten months. ' ' 

"Ah!" said Spargo. "What you are suffering from 
is dulness. You must have an antidote." 

' ' Dulness ! ' ' exclaimed the damsel. " That 's the right 
word for Market Milcaster. There's just a few regular 
old customers drop in here of a morning, between eleven 
and one. A stray caller looks in — perhaps — during the 
afternoon. Then, at night, a lot of old fogies sit round 
that end of the room and talk about old times. Old 
times, indeed! — what they want in Market Milcaster is 
new times." 

Spargo pricked up his ears. 

"Well, but it's rather interesting to hear old fogies 
talk about old times," he said. "I love it!" 



THE "YELLOW DRAGON" 145 

"Then you can get as much of it as ever you want 
here," remarked the barmaid. "Look in tonight any 
time after eight o'clock, and if you don't know more 
about the history of Market Milcaster by ten than you 
did when you sat down, you must be deaf. There are 
some old gentlemen drop in here every night, regular as 
clockwork, who seem to feel that they couldn't go to bed 
unless they've told each other stories about old days 
which I should think they've heard a thousand times 
already!" 

"Very old men?" asked Spargo. 

"Methuselahs," replied the lady. "There's old Mr. 
Quarterpage, across the way there, the auctioneer, though 
he doesn't do any business now — they say he's ninety, 
though I'm sure you wouldn't take him for more than 
seventy. And there's Mr. Lummis, further down the 
street — he's eighty-one. And Mr. Skene, and Mr. Kaye 
— they're regular patriarchs. I've sat here and listened 
to th^m till I believe I could write a history of Market 
Milcaster since the year One." 

"I can conceive of that as a pleasant and profitable 
occupation," said Spargo. 

He chatted a while longer in a fashion calculated to 
cheer the barmaid's spirits, after which he went out and 
strolled around the town until seven o'clock, the 
"Dragon's" hour for dinner. There were no more peo- 
ple in the big coffee-room than there had been at lunch 
and Spargo was glad, when his solitary meal was over, to 
escape to the bar-parlour, where he took his coffee in a 
corner near to that sacred part in which the old towns- 
men had been reported to him to sit. 



146 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"And mind you don't sit in one of their chairs," said 
the barmaid, warningly. ' ' They all have their own spe- 
cial chairs and their special pipes there on that rack, and 
I suppose the ceiling would fall in if anybody touched 
pipe or chair. But you're all right there, and you'll 
hear all they've got to say." 

To Spargo, who had never seen anything of the sort 
before, and who, twenty-four hours previously, would 
have believed the thing impossible, the proceedings of 
that evening in the bar-parlour of the "Yellow Dragon" 
at Market Milcaster were like a sudden transference to 
the eighteenth century. Precisely as the clock struck 
eight and a bell began to toll somewhere in the recesses 
of the High Street, an old gentleman walked in, and the 
barmaid, catching Spargo 's eye, gave him a glance which 
showed that the play was about to begin. 

"Good evening, Mr. Kaye," said the barmaid. 
"You're first tonight. " 

"Evening," said Mr. Kaye and took a seat, scowled 
around him, and became silent. He was a tall, lank old 
gentleman, clad in rusty black clothes, with a pointed 
collar sticking up on both sides of his fringe of grey 
whisker and a voluminous black neckcloth folded sev- 
eral times round his neck, and by the expression of his 
countenance was inclined to look on life severely. "No- 
body been in yet ? " asked Mr. Kaye. 

"No, but here's Mr. Lummis and Mr. Skene," replied 
the barmaid. 

Two more old gentlemen entered the bar-parlour. 
Of these, one was a little, dapper-figured man, clad in 
clothes of an eminently sporting cut, and of very loud 



THE "YELLOW DRAGON" 147 

pattern; he sported a bright blue necktie, a flower in 
his lapel, and a tall white hat, which he wore at a rakish 
angle. The other was a big, portly, bearded man with 
a Falstaffian swagger and a rakish eye, who chaffed the 
barmaid as he entered, and gave her a good-humoured 
chuck under the chin as he passed her.^ These two also 
sank into chairs which seemed to have been specially 
designed to meet them, and the stout man slapped the 
arms of his as familiarly as he had greeted the barmaid. 
He looked at his two cronies. 

' ' Well ? " he said. ' ' Here 's three of us. And there 's 
a symposium." 

"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the dapper little man. 
"Grandpa '11 be here in a minute. We'll start fair." 

The barmaid glanced out of the window. 

"There's Mr. Quarterpage coming across the street 
now," she announced. "Shall I put the things on the 
table?" 

"Aye, put them on, my dear, put them on!" com- 
manded the fat man. "Have all in readiness." 

The barmaid thereupon placed a round table before 
the sacred chairs, set out upon it a fine old punch-bowl 
and the various ingredients for making punch, a box of 
cigars, and an old leaden tobacco-box, and she had just 
completed this interesting prelude to the evening's dis- 
course when the door opened again and in walked one of 
the most remarkable old men Spargo had ever seen. 
And by this time, knowing that this was the venerable 
Mr. Benjamin Quarterpage, of whom Crowfoot had told 
him, he took good stock of the newcomer as he took his 
place amongst his friends, who on their part received 



148 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

him with ebullitions of delight which were positively 
boyish. 

Mr. Quarterpage was a youthful buck of ninety— a 
middle-sized, sturdily-built man, straight as a dart, still 
active of limb, clear-eyed, and strong of voice. His 
clean-shaven old countenance was ruddy as a sun- 
warmed pippin; his hair was still only silvered; his 
hand was steady as a rock. His clothes of buff-coloured 
whipcord were smart and jaunty, his neckerchief as gay 
as if he had been going to a fair. It seemed to Spargo 
that Mr. Quarterpage had a pretty long lease of life be- 
fore him even at his age. 

Spargo, in his corner, sat fascinated while the old gen- 
tlemen began their symposium. Another, making five, 
came in and joined them — the live had the end of the 
bar-parlour to themselves. Mr. Quarterpage made the 
punch with all due solemnity and ceremony ; when it was 
ladled out each man lighted his pipe or took a cigar, and 
the tongues began to wag. Other folk came and went; 
the old gentlemen were oblivious of anything but their 
own talk. Now and then a young gentleman of the 
town dropped in to take his modest half-pint of bitter 
beer and to dally in the presence of the barmaid ; such 
looked with awe at the patriarchs : as for the patriarchs 
themselves they were lost in the past. 

Spargo began to understand what the damsel behind 
the bar meant when she said that she believed she could 
write a history of Market Milcaster since the year One. 
After discussing the weather, the local events of the 
day, and various personal matters, the old fellows got to 
reminiscences of the past, telling tale after tale, recalling 



THE "YELLOW DRAGON" 149 

incident upon incident of long years before. At last 
they turned to memories of racing days at Market Mil- 
caster. And at that Spargo determined on a bold stroke. 
Now was the time to get some information. Taking the 
silver ticket from his purse, he laid it, the heraldic device 
uppermost, on the palm of his hand, and approaching 
the group with a polite bow, said quietly : 

"Gentlemen, can any of you tell me anything about 
that?" 



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 

If Spargo had upset the old gentlemen's bowl of punch 
— the second of the evening — or had dropped an infernal 
machine in their midst, he could scarcely have produced 
a more startling effect than that wrought upon them by 
his sudden production of the silver ticket. Their babble 
of conversation died out ; one of them dropped his pipe ; 
another took his cigar out of his mouth as if he had sud- 
denly discovered that he was sucking a stick of poison ; 
all lifted astonished faces to the interrupter, staring 
from him to the shining object exhibited in his out- 
stretched palm, from it back to him. And at last Mr. 
Quarterpage, to whom Spargo had more particularly ad- 
dressed himself, spoke, pointing with great empresse- 
ment to the ticket. 

"Young gentleman!" he said, in accents that seemed 
to Spargo to tremble a little, "young gentleman, where 
did you get that?" 

"Tou know what it is, then?" asked Spargo, willing 
to dally a little with the matter. "Tou recognize it?" 

"Know it! Recognize it!" exclaimed Mr. Quarter- 
page. ' ' Yes, and so does every gentleman present. And 
it is just because I see you are a stranger to this town 

150 



MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 151 

that I ask you where you got it. Not, I think, young 
gentleman, in this town." 

"No," replied Sparge. "Certainly not in this town. 
How should I get it in this town if I 'm a stranger ? ' ' 

"Quite true, quite true!" murmured Mr. Quarter- 
page. "I cannot conceive how any person in the town 
who is in possession of one of those — what shall we call 
them — heirlooms? — yes, heirlooms of antiquity, could 
possibly be base enough to part with it. Therefore, I 
ask again — ^Where did you get that, young gentleman ? ' ' 

"Before I tell you that," answered Spargo, who, in 
answer to a silent sign from the fat man had drawn a 
chair amongst them, "perhaps you will tell me exactly 
what this is? I see it to be a bit of old, polished, much 
worn silver, having on the obverse the arms or heraldic 
bearings of somebody or something; on the reverse the 
figure of a running horse. But — what is it ? " 

The five old men all glanced at each other and made 
simultaneous grunts. Then Mr. Quarterpage spoke. 

"It is one of the original fifty burgess tickets of Mar- 
ket Milcaster, young sir, which gave its holder special 
and greatly valued privileges in respect to attendance at 
our once famous race-meeting, now unfortunately a thing 
of the past," he added. "Fifty— aye, forty!— years 
ago, to be in possession of one of those tickets was — 
was — — " 

"A grand thing!" said one of the old gentlemen. 

"Mr. Lummis is right," said Mr. Quarterpage. "It 
was a grand thing — a very grand thing. Those tickets, 
sir, were treasured — are treasured. And yet you, a 
stranger, show us one! You got it, sir " 



152 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo saw that it was now necessary to cut matters 
short. 

"I found this ticket — ^under mysterious circumstances 
— iQ London," he answered. "I want to trace it. I 
want to know who its original owner was. That is why 
I have come to Market Milcaster. ' ' 

Mr. Quarterpage slowly looked round the circle of 
faces. 

"Wonderful!" he said. "Wonderful! He found 
this ticket — one of our famous fifty — ^in London, and 
under mysterious circumstances. He wants to trace it — 
he wants to know to whom it belonged! That is why 
he has come to Market Milcaster. Most extraordinary! 
Gentlemen, I appeal to you if this is not the most ex- 
traordinary event that has happened in Market Milcaster 
for — I don't know how many years?" 

There was a general murmur of assent, and Spargo 
found everybody looking at him as if he had just an- 
nounced that he had come to buy the whole town. 

"But — ^why?" he asked, showing great surprise. 
"Why?" 

"Why?" exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. "Why? He 
asks — ^why? Because, young gentleman, it is the great- 
est surprise to me, and to these friends of mine, too, 
every man jack of 'em, to hear that any one of our fifty 
tickets ever passed out of the possession of any of the 
fifty families to whom they belonged! And unless I 
am vastly, greatly, most unexplainably mistaken, young 
sir, you are not a member of any Market Milcaster 
family. ' ' 

"No, I'm not," admitted Spargo. And he was going 



MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 153 

to add that until the previous evening he had never even 
heard of Market Milcaster, but he wisely refrained. 
"No, I'm certainly not," he added. 

Mr. Quarterpage waved his long pipe. 

"I believe," he said, "I believe that if the evening 
were not drawing to a close — it is already within a few 
minutes of our departure, young gentleman — I believe, 
I say, that if I had time, I could, from memory, give 
the names of the fifty families who held those tickets 
when the raee-meeting came to an end. I believe I 
could!" 

"I'm sure you could!" asserted the little man in the 
loud suit. "Never was such a memory as yours, 
never ! ' ' 

"Especially for anything relating to the old racing 
matters," said the fat man. "Mr. Quarterpage is a 
walking encyclopaedia." 

"My memory is good," said Mr. Quarterpage. "It's 
the greatest blessing I have in my declining years. 
Yes, I am sure I could do that, with a little thought. 
And what 's more, nearly every one of those fifty families 
is still in the town, or if not in the town, close by it, or 
if not close by it, I know where they are. Therefore, I 
cannot make out how this young gentleman — from Lon- 
don, did you say, sir?" 

"From London," answered Sparge. 

"This young gentleman from London comes to be 
in possession of one of our tickets," continued Mr. 
Quarterpage. ' ' It is — wonderful ! But I tell you what, 
young gentleman from London, if you will do me the 
honour to breakfast with me in the morning, sir, I will 



154 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

show you my racing books and papers and we will 
speedily discover who the original holder of that ticket 
was. My name, sir, is Quarterpage — Benjamin Quar- 
terpage — and I reside at the ivy-covered house exactly 
opposite this inn, and my breakfast hour is nine o 'clock 
sharp, and I shall bid you heartily welcome!" 

Spargo made his best bow. 

'^ir," he said, "I am greatly obliged by your kind 
invitation, and I shall consider it an honour to wait 
upon you to the moment." 

Accordingly, at five minutes to nine next morning, 
Spargo found himself in an old-fashioned parlour, look- 
ing out upon a delightful garden, gay with summer flow- 
ers, and being introduced by Mr. Quarterpage, Senior, 
to Mr. Quarterpage, Junior — a pleasant gentleman of 
sixty, always referred to by his father as something 
quite juvenile — and to Miss Quarterpage, a young-old 
lady of something a little less elderly than her brother, 
and to a breakfast table bounteously spread with all the 
choice fare of the season. Mr. Quarterpage, Senior, was 
as fresh and rosy as a cherub; it was a revelation to 
Spargo to encounter so old a man who was still in pos- 
session of such life and spirits, and of such a vigorous 
and healthy appetite. 

Naturally, the talk over the breakfast table ran on 
Spargo 's possessi-on of the old silver ticket, upon which 
subject it was evident Mr. Quarterpage was still exer- 
cising his intellect. And Spargo, who had judged it well 
to enlighten his host as to who he was, and had exhibited 
a letter with which the editor of the Watchman had fur- 
nished him, told how in the exercise of his journalistic 



MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 155 

duties he had discovered the ticket in the lining of an 
old box. But he made no mention of the Marbury mat- 
ter, being anxious to see first whither Mr. Quarterpage's 
revelations would lead him. 

"You have no idea, Mr. Spargo," said the old gentle- 
man, when, breakfast over, he and Spargo were closeted 
together in a little library in which were abundant evi- 
dences of the host's taste in sporting matters; "you have 
no idea of the value which was attached to the possession 
of one of those silver tickets. There is mine, as you see, 
securely framed and just as securely fastened to the wall. 
Those fifty silver tickets, my dear sir, were made when 
our old race-meeting was initiated, in the year 1781. 
They were made in the town by a local silversmith, 
whose great-great-grandson still carries on the business. 
The fifty were distributed amongst the fifty leading 
burgesses of the town to be kept in their families for 
ever — nobody ever anticipated in those days that our 
race-meeting would ever be discontinued. The ticket 
carried great privileges. It made its holder, and all 
members of his family, male and female, free of the 
stands, rings, and paddocks. It gave the holder him- 
self and his eldest son, if of age, the right to a seat at 
our grand race banquet — at which, I may tell you, Mr. 
Spargo, Royalty itself has been present in the good old 
days. Consequently, as you see, to be the holder of a 
silver ticket was to be somebody." 

"And when the race-meeting fell through?" asked 
Spargo. "What then?" 

"Then, of course, the families who held the tickets 
looked upon them as heirlooms, to be taken great care 



156 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

of," replied Mr. Quarterpage. , "They were dealt with 
as I dealt with mine — framed on velvet, and hung up — 
or locked away: I am sure that anybody who had one 
took the greatest care of it. Now, I said last night, over 
there at the 'Dragon,' that I could repeat the names of 
all the families who held these tickets. So I can. But 
here" — the old gentleman drew out a drawer and pro- 
duced from it a parchment-bound book which he han- 
dled with great reverence — "here is a little volume of 
my own handwriting — memoranda relating to Market 
Milcaster Races — in which is a list of the original hold- 
ers, together with another list showing who held the 
tickets when the races were given up. I make bold to 
say, Mr. Spargo, that by going through the second list, 
I could trace every ticket — except the one you have in 
your purse. ' ' 

"Every one?" said Spargo, in some surprise. 

"Every one! For as I told you," continued Mr. 
Quarterpage, "the families are either in the town (we're 
a conservative people here in Market Milcaster and we 
don't move far afield) or they're just outside the town, 
or they're not far away. I can't conceive how the ticket 
you have — and it's genuine enough — could ever get out 
of possession of one of these families, and " 

"Perhaps," suggested Spargo, "it never has been out 
of possession. I told you it was found in the lining of a 
box — that box belonged to a dead man. ' ' 

"A dead man!" exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. "A 
dead man ! Who could — ah ! Perhaps — perhaps I have 
an idea. Yes ! — an idea. I remember something now 
that I had never thought of. ' ' 



MR. QUARTERPAGE HARKS BACK 157 

The old gentleman unfastened the clasp of his parch- 
ment-bound book, and turned over its pages until he 
came to one whereon was a list of names. He pointed 
this out to Spargo. 

"There is the list of holders of the silver tickets at 
the time the race-meetings came to an end," he said. 
"If you were acquainted with this town you would know 
that those are the names of our best-known inhabitants — 
all, of course, burgesses. There's mine, you see — Quar- 
terpage. There's Lummis, there's Kaye, there's Skene, 
there's Templeby — the gentlemen you saw last night. 
All good old town names. They all are — on this list. 
I know every family mentioned. The holders of that 
time are many of them dead; but their successors have 
the tickets. Yes — and now that I think of it, there's 
only one man who held a ticket when this list was made 
about whom I don 't know anything — at least, anything 
recent. The ticket, Mr. Spargo, which you've found 
must have been his. But I thought — I thought some- 
body else had it ! " 

"And this man, sir? Who was he?" asked Spargo, 
intuitively conscious that he was coming to news. "Is 
his name there ? ' ' 

The old man ran the tip of his finger down the list of 
names. 

"There it is!" he said. "John Maitland." 

Spargo bent over the fine writing. 

"Yes, John Maitland," he observed. "And who was 
John Maitland?" 

Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. He turned to an- 
other of the many drawers in an ancient bureau, and 



158 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

began to search amongst a mass of old newspapers, care- 
fully sorted into small bundles and tied up. 

"If you had lived in Market Milcaster one-and- 
twenty years ago, Mr. Spargo," he said, "you would 
have known who John Maitland was. For some time, 
sir, he was the best-known man in the place — aye, and 
in this corner of the world. But — aye, here it is — ^the 
newspaper of October 5th, 1891. Now, Mr. Spargo, 
you'll find in this old newspaper who John Maitland 
was, and all about him. Now, I'll tell you what to do. 
I've just got to go into my office for an hour to talk 
the day 's business over with my son — you take this news- 
paper out into the garden there with one of these cigars, 
and read what '11 you find in it, and when you've read 
that we'll have some more talk." 

Spargo carried the old newspaper into the sunlit 
garden. 



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

AN OLD NEWSPAPER 

As soon as Spargo unfolded the paper he saw what 
he wanted on the middle page, headed in two lines of big 
capitals. He lighted a cigar and settled down to read. 

"Market Milcastek Quarter Sessions 
"Trial of John Maitland 

"The Quarter Sessions for the Borough of Market 
Milcaster were held on Wednesday last, October 3rd, 
1891, in the Town Hall, before the Recorder, Henry 
John Campernowne, Esq., K.C., who was accompanied 
on the bench by the Worshipful the Mayor of Market 
Milcaster (Alderman Pettiford), the Vicar of Market 
Milcaster (the Rev. P. B. Clabberton, M.A., R.D.), 
Alderman Danks, J.P., Alderman Peters, J.P., Sir 
Gervais Raeton, J.P., Colonel Fludgate, J. P., Captain 
Murrill, J.P., and other magistrates and gentlemen. 
There was a crowded attendance of the public in an- 
ticipation of the trial of John Maitland, ex-manager 
of the Market Milcaster Bank, and the reserved por- 
tions of the Court were filled with the elite of the town 
and neighbourhood, including a considerable number 
of ladies who manifested the greatest interest in the 

proceedings. 

159 



160 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"The Recorder, in charging the Grand Jury, said 
he regretted that the very pleasant and gratifying 
experience which had been his upon the occasion of 
his last two official visits to Market Milcaster — he re- 
ferred to the fact that on both those occasions his 
friend the Worshipful Mayor had been able to present 
him with a pair of white gloves — was not to be re- 
peated on the present occasion. It would be their sad 
and regrettable lot to have before them a fellow- 
townsman whose family had for generations occupied 
a foremost position in the life of the borough. That 
fellow-townsman was charged with one of the most 
serious offences known to a commercial nation like 
ours : the offence of embezzling the moneys of the bank 
of which he had for many years been the trusted man- 
ager, and with which he had been connected aU his life 
since his school days. He understood that the prisoner 
who iSyould shortly be put before the court on his trial 
was about to plead guilty, and there would accordingly 
be no need for him to direct the gentlemen of the 
Grand Jury on this matter — what he had to say re- 
specting the gravity and even enormity of the offence 
he would reserve. The Recorder then addressed him- 
self to the Grand Jury on the merits of two minor 
cases, which came before the court at a later period 
of the morning, after which they retired, and having 
formally returned a true bill against the prisoner, and 
a petty jury, chosen from well-known burgesses of 
the town having been duly sworn, 

"John Maitland, aged 42, bank manager, of the 
Bank House, High Street, Market Milcaster, was for- 



AN OLD NEWSPAPER 161 

mally charged with embezzling, on April 23rd, 1891, 
the sum of £4,875 10s. 6d., the moneys of his em- 
ployers, the Market Milcaster Banking Company Ltd., 
and converting the same to his own use. The pris- 
oner, who appeared to feel his position most acutely, 
and who looked very pale and much worn, was repre- 
sented by Mr. Charles Doolittle, the well-known bar- 
rister of Kingshaven; Mr. Stephens, K.C., appeared 
on behalf of the prosecution. 

"Maitland, upon being charged, pleaded guilty. 

"Mr. Stephens, K.C., addressing the Recorder, said 
that without any desire to unduly press upon the pris- 
oner, who, he ventured to think, had taken a very wise 
course in pleading guilty to that particular count in 
the indictment with which he stood charged, he felt 
bound, in the interests of justice, to set forth to the 
Court some particulars of the defalcations which had 
arisen through the prisoner's much lamented dis- 
honesty. He proposed to offer a clear and succinct 
account of the matter. The prisoner, John Maitland, 
was the last of an old Market Milcaster family — he 
was, in fact, he believed, with the exception of his own 
infant son, the very last of the race. His father had 
been manager of the bank before him. Maitland him-, 
self had entered the service of the bank at the age 
of eighteen, when he left the local Grammar School;- 
he succeeded his father as manager at the age of 
thirty-two ; he had therefore occupied this highest po- 
sition of trust for ten years. His directors had the 
fullest confidence in him; they relied on his honesty 
and his honour; they gave him discretionary powers 



162 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

such as no bank-manager, probably, ever enjoyed or 
held before. In fact, he was so trusted that he was, 
to all intents and purposes, the Market Milcaster Bank- 
ing Company ; in other words he was allowed full con- 
trol over everything, and given full licence to do what 
he liked. Whether the directors were wise in extend- 
ing such liberty to even the most trusted servant, it 
was not for him (Mr. Stephens) to say; it was some 
consolation, under the circumstances, to know that 
the loss would fall upon the directors, inasmuch as 
they themselves held nearly the whole of the shares. 
But he had to speak of the loss — of the serious de- 
falcations which Maitland had committed. The pris- 
oner had wisely pleaded guilty to the first count of 
the indictment. But there were no less than seventeen 
counts in the indictment. He had pleaded guilty to 
embezzling a sum of £4,875 odd. But the total amount 
of the defalcations, comprised in the seventeen counts, 
was no less — it seemed a most amazing sum! — ^than 
£221,573 8s. 6d.\ There was the fact— the banking 
company had been robbed of over two hundred thou- 
sand pounds by the prisoner in the dock before a mere 
accident, the most trifling chance, had revealed to the 
astounded directors that he was robbing them at all. 
And the most serious feature of the whole case was 
that not one penny of this money had been, or ever 
could be, recovered. He believed that the prisoner's 
learned counsel was about to urge upon the Court that 
the prisoner himself had been tricked and deceived by 
another man, unfortunately not before the Court— a 
man, he understood, also well known in Market Mil- 



AN OLD NEWSPAPER 163 

caster, who was now dead, and therefore could not be 
called, but whether he was so tricked or deceived was 
no excuse for his clever and wholesale robbing of his 
employers. Hje had thought it necessary to put these 
facts — ^which would not be denied — ^before the Court, 
in order that it might be known how heavy the defal- 
cations really had been, and that they should be con- 
sidered in dealing with the prisoner. 

"The Eecorder asked if there was no possibility of 
recovering any part of the vast sum concerned. 

"Mr. Stephens replied that they were informed that 
there was not the remotest chance — the money, it was 
said by prisoner and those acting on his behalf, had 
utterly vanished with the death of the man to whom 
he had just made reference. 

"Mr. Doolittle, on behalf of the prisoner, craved to 
address a few words to the Court in mitigation of sen- 
tence. He thanked Mr. Stephens for the considerate 
and eminently dispassionate manner in which he had 
outlined the main facts of the case. He had no de- 
sire to minimize the prisoner's guilt. But, on pris- 
oner's behalf, he desired to tell the true story as 
to how these things came to be. Until as recently 
as three years previously the prisoner had never 
made the slightest deviation from the straight path 
of integrity. Unfortunately for him, and, he be- 
lieved, for some others in Market Mileaster, there 
came to the town three years before the present 
proceedings, a man named Chamberlayne, who com- 
menced business in the High Street as a stock-and- 
share broker. A man of good address and the most 



164 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

plausible manners, Chamberlayne attracted a good 
many people — amongst them his unfortunate client. 
It was matter of common knowledge that Chamber- 
layne had induced numerous persons in Market Mil- 
caster to enter into financial transactions with him; 
it was matter of common repute that those transac- 
tions had not always turned out well for Chamber- 
layne 's clients. Unhappily for himself, Maitland had 
great faith in Chamberlayne. He had begun to have 
transactions with him in a large way ; they had gone on 
and on in a large way until he was involved to vast 
amounts. Believing thoroughly in Chamberlayne and 
his methods, he had entrusted him with very large 
sums of money. 

"The Recorder interrupted Mr. Doolittle at this 
point to ask if he was to understand that Mr. Doo- 
little was referring to the prisoner's own money. 

"Mr. Doolittle replied that he was afraid the large 
sums he referred to were the property of the bank. 
But the prisoner had such belief in Chamberlayne that 
he firmly anticipated that all would be weU, and that 
these sums would be repaid, and that a vast profit 
would result from their use. 

"The Recorder remarked that he supposed the pris- 
oner intended to put the profit into his own pockets. 

"Mr. Doolittle said at any rate the prisoner as- 
sured him that of the two hundred and twenty thou- 
sand pounds which was in question, Chamberlayne 
had had the immediate handling of at least two hun- 
dred thousand, and he, the prisoner, had not the ghost 
of a notion as to what Chamberlayne had done with it. 



AN OLD NEWSPAPER 165 

Unfortunately for everybody, for the bank, for some 
other people, and especially for his unhappy client, 
Chamberlayne died, very suddenly, just as these pro- 
ceedings were instituted, and so far it had been ab- 
solutely impossible to trace anything of the moneys 
concerned. He had died under mysterious circum- 
stances, and there was just as much mystery about his 
affairs. 

"The Recorder observed that he was still waiting 
to hear what Mr. Doolittle had to urge in mitigation 
of any sentence he, the Recorder, might think fit to 
pass. 

"Mr. Doolittle said that he would trouble the Court 
with as few remarks £is possible. All that he could 
urge on behalf of the unfortunate man in the dock 
was that until three years ago he had borne a most 
exemplary character, and had never committed a dis- 
honest action. It had been his misfortune, his folly, 
to allow a plausible man to persuade him to these acts 
of dishonesty. That man had been called to another 
account, and the prisoner was left to bear the conse- 
quences of his association with him. It seemed as if 
Chamberlayne had made away with the money for his 
own purposes, and it might be that it would yet be 
recovered. He would only ask the Court to remember 
the prisoner's antecedents and his previous good con- 
duct, and to bear in mind that whatever his near fu- 
ture might be he was, in a commercial sense, ruined 
for life. 

"The Recorder, in passing sentence, said that he 
had not heard a single word of valid excuse for Mait- 



166 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

laud's conduct. Such dishonesty must be punished 
in the most severe fashion, and the prisoner must go 
to penal servitude for ten years. 

"Maitland, who heard the sentence unmoved, was 
removed from the town later in the day to the county 
jail at Saxehester. ' ' 

Spargo read all this swiftly; then went over it again, 
noting certain points in it. At last he folded up the 
newspaper and turned to the house — to see old Quar- 
terpage beckoning to him from the library window. 



CHAPTER NINETEEN 

THE CHAMBERLAYNB STORY 

"I perceive, sir," said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo 
entered the library, "that you have read the account of 
the Maitland trial." 

"Twice," replied Spargo. 

"And you have come to the conclusion that — but what 
conclusion have you come to?" asked Mr. Quarterpage. 

"That the silver ticket in my purse was Maitland 's 
property," said Spargo, who was not going to give all 
his conclusions at once. 

"Just so," agreed the old gentleman. "I think so — 
I can't think anything else. But I was under the im- 
pression that I could have accounted for that ticket, 
just as I am sure I can account for the other forty-nine. ' ' 

"Yes — and how?" asked Spargo. 

Mr. Quarterpage turned to a comer cupboard and in 
silence produced a decanter and two curiously-shaped 
old wine-glasses. He carefully polished the glasses with 
a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set glasses and 
decanter on a table in the window, motioning Spargo to 
take a chair in proximity thereto. He himself p Jled 
up his own elbow-chair. 

"We'll take a glass of my old brown sherry," he said. 

167 



168 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Though I say it as shouldn't, as the saying goes, I 
don't think you could find better brown sherry than that 
from Land's End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, Mr. Spargo— 
no, nor further north either, where they used to have 
good taste in liquor in my young days! "Well, here's 
your good health, sir, and I'll tell you about Maitland." 

"I'm curious," said Spargo. "And about more than 
Maitland. I want to know about a lot of things arising 
out of that newspaper report. I want to know something 
about the man referred to so much — the stockbroker, 
Chamberlayne. ' ' 

"Just so," observed Mr. Quarterpage, smiling. "I 
thought that would touch your sense of the inquisitive. 
Biit Maitland first. Now, when Maitland went to prison, 
he left behind him a child, a boy, just then about two 
years old. The child's mother was dead. Her sister, 
a Miss Baylis, appeared on the scene — Maitland had 
married his wife from a distance — and took possession 
of the child and of Maitland 's personal effects. He had 
been made bankrupt while he was awaiting his trial, and 
all his household goods were sold. But this Miss Baylis 
took some small personal things, and I always believed 
that she took the silver ticket. And she may have done, 
for anything I know to the contrary. Anyway, she took 
the c^ild away, and there was an end of the Maitland 
family in Market Milcaster. Maitland, of course, was 
in due procedure of things removed to Dartmoor, and 
there he served his term. There were people who were 
very anxious to get hold of him when he came out — ^the 
bank people, for they believed that he knew more about 
the disposition of that money than he'd ever told, and 



THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY 169 

they wanted to induce him to tell what they hoped he 
knew — between ourselves, Mr. Spargo, they were going 
to make it worth his while to tell. ' ' 

Spargo tapped the newspaper, which he had retained 
while the old gentleman talked. 

"Then they didn't believe what his counsel said — that 
Chamberlayne got all the money?" he asked. 

Mr. Quarterpage laughed. 

"No — nor anybody else!" he answered. "There was 
a strong idea in the town — you '11 see why afterwards — 
that it was all a put-up job, and that Maitland cheer- 
fully underwent his punishment knowing that there was 
a nice fortune waiting for him when he came out. And 
as I say, the bank people meant to get hold of him. But 
though they sent a special agent to meet him on his re- 
lease, they never did get hold of him. Some mistake 
arose — when Maitland was released, he got clear away. 
Nobody's ever heard a word of him from that day to 
this. Unless Miss Baylis has. ' ' 

"Where does this Miss Baylis live?" asked Spargo. 

"Well, I don't know," replied Mr. Quarterpage. 
"She did live in Brighton when she took the child away, 
and her address was known, and I have it somewhere. 
But when the bank people sought her out after Mait- 
land 's release, she, too, had clean disappeared, and all 
efforts to trace her failed. In fact,; according to the 
folks who lived near her in Brighton, she'd completely 
disappeared, with the child, five years before. So there 
wasn 't a clue to Maitland. He served his time — made a 
model prisoner — they did find that much out! — earned 
the maximum remission, was released, and vanished. 



170 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

And for that very reason there 's a theory about him in 
this very town to this very day ! ' ' 

"What?" asked Spargo. 

"This. That he's now living comfortably, luxuri- 
ously abroad on what he got from the bank," replied 
Mr. Quarterpage. "They say that the sister-in-law was 
in at the game ; that when she disappeared with the child, 
she went abroad somewhere and made a home ready for 
Maitland, and that he went off to them as soon as he 
came out. Do you see?" 

"I suppose that was possible," said Spargo. 

"Quite possible, sir. But now," continued the old 
gentleman, replenishing the glasses, "now we come on 
to the Chamberlayne story. It's a good deal more to 
do with the Maitland story than appears at first sight. 
I'll tell it to you and you can form your own conclusions. 
Chamberlayne was a man who came to Market Milcaster 
— I don't know from where — in 1886 — ^five years before 
the Maitland smash-up. He was then about Maitland 's 
age — a man of thirty-seven or eight. He came as clerk 
to old Mr. Vallas, the rope and twine manufacturer: 
Vallas's place is still there, at the bottom of the High 
Street, near the river, though old Vallas is dead. He 
was a smart, cute, pushing chap, this Chamberlayne ; he 
made himself indispensable to old Vallas, and old Vallas 
paid him a rare good salary. He settled down in the 
town, and he married a town girl, one of the Corkin- 
dales, the saddlers, when he'd been here three years. 
Unfortunately she died in childbirth withia a year of 
their marriage. It was very soon after that that Cham- 
berlayne threw up his post at Vallas's, and started busi- 



THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY 171 

ness as a stock-and-share broker. He'd been a saving 
man ; he 'd got a nice bit of money with his wife ; he al- 
ways let it be known that he had money of his own, and 
he started in a good way. He was a man of the most 
plausible manners; he'd have coaxed butter out of a 
dog's throat if he'd wanted to. The moneyed men of 
the town believed in him — I believed in him myself, Mr. 
Spargo — I'd many a transaction with him, and I never 
lost aught by him — on the contrary, he did very well 
for me. He did well for most of his clients — there were, 
of course, ups and downs, but on the whole he satisfied 
his clients uncommonly well. But, naturally, nobody 
ever knew what was going on between him and Mait- 
land." 

"I gather from this report," said Spargo, "that every- 
thing came out suddenly — unexpectedly?" 

"That was so, sir," replied Mr. Quarterpage. "Sud- 
den? Unexpected? Aye, as a crack of thunder on a 
fine winter's day. Nobody had the ghost of a notion 
that anything was wrong. John Maitland was much 
respected in the town ; much thought of by everybody ; 
well known to everybody. I can assure you, Mr. Spargo, 
that it was no pleasant thing to have to sit on that grand 
jury as I did — I was its foreman, sir, — and hear a man 
sentenced that you'd regarded as a bosom friend. But 
there it was!" 

"How was the thing discovered?" asked Spargo, anx- 
ious to get at facts. 

' ' In this way, ' ' replied Mr. Quarterpage. ' ' The Mar- 
ket Milcaster Bank is in reality almost entirely the prop- 
erty of two old families in the town, the Gutchbys and 



172 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

the Hostables. Owing to the death of his father, a young 
Hostable, fresh from college, came into the business. 
He was a shrewd, keen young fellow ; he got some sus- 
picion, somehow, about Maitland, and he insisted on the 
other partners consenting to a special investigation, and 
on their making it suddenly. And Maitland was caught 
before he had a chance. But we're talking about Cham- 
berlayne. ' ' 

"Yes, about Chamberlayne, " agreed Spargo. 

"Well, now, Maitland was arrested one evening," con- 
tinued Mr. Quarterpage. "Of course, the news of his 
arrest ran through the town like wild-fire. Everybody 
was astonished ; he was at that time — aye, and had been 
for years — a churchwarden at the Parish Church, and I 
don't think there could have been more surprise if we'd 
heard that the Vicar had been arrested for bigamy. In 
a little town like this, news is all over the place in a few 
minutes. Of course, Chamberlayne would hear that 
news like everybody else. But it was remembered, and 
often remarked upon afterwards, that from the moment 
of Maitland 's arrest nobody in Market Milcaster ever 
had speech with Chamberlayne again. After his wife's 
death he'd taken to spending an hour or so of an eve- 
ning across there at the 'Dragon,' where you saw me 
and my friends last night, but on that night he didn't 
go to the 'Dragon.' And next morning he caught the 
eight o'clock train to London. He happened to remark 
to the stationmaster as he got into the train that he ex- 
pected to be back late that night, and that he should 
have a tiring day of it. But Chamberlayne didn't come 
back that night, Mr. Spargo. He didn't come back to 



THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY 173 

Market Milcaster for four days, and when he did come 
back it was in a coffin ! ' ' 

' ' Dead ? ' ' exclaimed Spargo. ' ' That was sudden ! ' ' 

"Very sudden," agreed Mr. Quarterpage. "Yes, sir, 
he came back in his coffin, did Chamberlayne. On the 
very evening on which he'd spoken of being back, there 
came a telegram here to say that he'd died very sud- 
denly at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. That telegram came 
to his. brother-in-law, Corkindale, the saddler — you'll 
find him down the street, opposite the Town Hall. It 
was sent to Corkindale by a nephew of Chamberlayne 's, 
another Chamberlayne, Stephen, who lived in London, 
and was understood to be on the Stock Exchange there. 
I saw that telegram, Mr. Spargo, and it was a long one. 
It said that Chamberlayne had had a sudden seizure, 
and though a doctor had been got to him he'd died 
shortly afterwards. Now, as Chamberlayne had his 
nephew and friends in London, his brother-in-law, Tom 
Corkindale, didn't feel that there was any necessity for 
him to go up to town, so he just sent off a wire to Stephen 
Chamberlayne asking if there was aught he could do. 
And next morning came another wire from Stephen say- 
ing that no inquest would be necessary, as the doctor had 
been present and able to certify the cause of death, and 
would Corkindale make all arrangements for the funeral 
two days later. You see, Chamberlayne had bought a 
vault in our cemetery when he buried his wife, so natur- 
ally they wished to bury him in it, with her. ' ' 

Spargo nodded. He was beginning to imagine all 
sorts of things and theories ; he was taking sverything in. 

"Well," continued Mr. Quarterpage, "on the second 



174 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

day after that, they brought Chamberlayne's body down. 
Three of 'em came with it — Stephen Chamberlayne, the 
doctor who'd been called in, and a solicitor. Everything 
was done according to proper form and usage. As 
Chamberlayne had been well known in the town, a good 
number of townsfolk met the body at the station and 
followed it to the cemetery. Of course, many of us who 
had been clients of Chamberlayne's were anxious to 
know how he had come to such a sudden end. Accord- 
ing to Stephen Chamberlayne's account, our Chamber- 
layne had wired to him and to his solicitor to meet him at 
the Cosmopolitan to do some business. They were await- 
ing him there when he arrived, and they had lunch to- 
gether. After that, they got to their business in a pri- 
vate room. Towards the end of the afternoon, Chamber- 
layne was taken suddenly ill, and though they got a doc- 
tor to him at once, he died before evening. The doctor 
said he'd a diseased heart. Anyhow, he was able to 
certify the cause of his death, so there was no inquest 
and they buried him, as I have told you. ' ' 

The old gentleman paused find, taking a sip at his 
sherry, smiled at some remiuiscence which occurred to 
him. 

"Well," he said, presently going on, "of course, on 
that came all the Maitland revelations, and Maitland 
vowed and declared that Chamberlayne had not only 
had nearly all the money, but that he was absolutely cer- 
tain that most of it was in his hands in hard cash. But 
Chamberlayne, Mr. Spargo, had left practically noth- 
ing. All that could be traced was about three or four 
thousand pounds. He'd left everything to his nephew, 



THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY 175 

Stephen. There wasn't a trace, a clue to the vast sums 
with which Maitland had entrusted him. And then peo- 
ple began to talk, and they said what some of them say to 
this very day ! ' ' 

"What's that?" asked Spargo. 

Mr. Quarterpage leaned forward and tapped his guest 
on the arm. 

"That Chamberlayne never did die, and that that 
coflSn was weighted with lead!" he answered. 



CHAPTER TWENTY 

MAITLAND ALIA8 MARBURY 

This remarkable declaration awoke such a new con- 
ception of matters in Sparge 's mind, aroused such in- 
finitely new possibilities in his imagination, that for a 
full moment he sat silently staring at his informant, who 
chuckled with quiet enjoyment at his visitor's surprise. 

"Do you mean to tell me," said Spargo at last, "that 
there are people in this town who still believe that the 
coffin in your cemetery which is said to contain Cham- 
berlayne's body contains — lead?" 

"Lots of 'em, my dear sir!" replied Mr. Quarterpage. 
"Lots of 'em! Go out in the street and asked the first 
six men you meet, and I'll go bail that four out of the 
six believe it." 

"Then why, in the sacred name of common sense did 
no one ever take steps to make certain?" asked Spargo. 
"Why didn't they get an order for exhumation?" 

"Because it was nobody's particular business to do 
so," answered Mr. Quarterpage. "You don't know 
country-town life, my dear sir. In towns like Market 
Milcaster folks talk and gossip a great deal, but they're 
always slow to do anything. It's a ease of who'll start 
first — of initiative. And if they see it's going to cost 
anything — then they'll have nothing to do with it." 

"But — the bank people?" suggested Spargo. 
176 



MAITLAND ALIAS MARBURY 177 

Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. 

"They're ampngst the lot who believe that Chamber- 
layne did die," he said. "They're very old-fashioned, 
conservative-minded people, the Gutchbys and the Host- 
ables, and they accepted the version of the nephew, and 
the doctor, and the solicitor. But now I '11 tell you some- 
thing about those three. There was a man here in the 
town, a gentleman of your own profession, who came to 
edit that paper you,'ve got on your knee. He got Inter- 
ested in this Chamberlayne case, and he began to make 
enquiries with the idea of getting hold of some good — 
what do you call it ? " 

"I suppose he'd call it 'copy,' " said Spargo. 

' ' ' Copy '—that was his term, ' ' agreed Mr. Quarter- 
page. ' ' Well, he took the trouble to go to London to ask 
some quiet questions of the nephew, Stephen. That was 
just twelve months after Chamberlayne had been buried. 
But he found that Stephen Chamberlayne had left .Eng- 
land — months before. Gone, they said, to one of the 
colonies, but they didn't know which. And the solicitor 
had also gone. And the doctor — couldn't be traced, no, 
sir, not even through the Medical Register. What do 
you think of all that, Mr. Spargo?" 

"I think," answered Spargo, "that Market Milcaster 
folk are considerably slow. I should have had that 
death and burial enquired into. The whole thing looks 
to me like a conspiracy." 

,"Well, sir, it was, as I say, nobody's business," said 
Mr. Quarterpage. "The newspaper gentleman tried to 
stir up interest in it, but it was no good, and very soon 
afterwards he left. And there it is." 



178 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Mr. Quarterpage, " said Spargo, "what's your own 
honest opinion?" 

The old gentleman smiled. 

"Ah!" he said. "I've often wondered, Mr. Spargo, 
if I really have an opinion on that point. I think that 
what I probably feel about the whole affair is that there 
was a good deal of mystery attaching to it. But we 
seem, sir, to have gone a long way from the question of 
that old silver ticket which you've got in your purse. 
Now " 

"No!" said Spargo, interrupting his host with an ac- 
companying wag of his forefinger. " No ! I think we 're 
coming nearer to it. Now you've given me a great deal 
of your time, Mr. Quarterpage, and told me a lot, and, 
first of all, before I tell you a lot, I 'm going to show you 
something. ' ' 

And Spargo took out of his pocket-book a carefully- 
mounted photograph of John Marbury — the original of 
the process-picture which he had had made for the 
Watchman. He handed it over. 

"Do you recognize that photograph as that of any- 
body you know?" he asked. "Look at it well and 
closely. ' ' 

Mr. Quarterpage put on a special pair of spectacles 
and studied the photograph from several points of view. 

"No, sir," he said at last with a shake of the head. 
"I don't recognize it at all." 

"Can't see in it any resemblance to any man you've 
ever known?" asked Spargo. 

"No, sir, none!" replied Mr. Quarterpage. "None 
whatever." 



MAITLAND ALIAS MARBURY 179 

"Very well," said Spargo, laying the photograph, on 
the table between them. "Now, then, I want you to 
tell me what John Maitland was like when you knew 
him. Also, I want you to describe Chamberlayne as he 
was when he died, or was supposed to die. You remem- 
ber them, of course, quite well 1 ' ' 

Mr. Quarterpage got up and moved to the door. 

"I can do better than that," he said. "I can show 
you photographs of both men as they were just before 
Maitland 's trial. I have a photograph of a small group 
of Market Milcaster notabilities which was taken at a 
municipal garden-party; Maitland and Chamberlayne 
are both in it. It's been put away in a cabinet in my 
drawing-room for many a long year, and I've no doubt 
it's as fresh as when it was taken." 

He left the room and presently returned with a large 
mounted- photograph which he laid on the table before 
his visitor. 

' ' There you are, sir, ' ' he said. ' ' Quite fresh, you see 
— it must be getting on to twenty years since that was 
taken out of the drawer that it's been kept in. Now, 
that's Maitland. And that's Chamberlayne." 

Spargo found himself looking at a group of men who 
stood against an ivy-covered wall in the stiff attitudes 
in which photographers arrange masses of sitters. He 
fixed his attention on the two figures indicated by Mr. 
Quarterpage, and saw two medium-heighted, rather 
sturdily-built men about whom there was nothing very 
specially noticeable. 

" Um ! " he said, musingly. ' ' Both bearded. ' ' 

"Yes, they both wore beards — full beards," assented 



180 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Mr. Qtiarterpage. "And you see, they weren't so much 
alike. But Maitland was a much darker man than Cham- 
berlayne, and he had brown eyes, while Chamberlayne's 
were rather a bright blue." 

"The removal of a beard makes a great difference," 
remarked Spargo. He looked at the photograph of 
Maitland in the group, comparing it with that of Mar- 
bury which he had taken from his pocket. "And twenty 
years makes a difference, too," he added musingly. 

"To some people twenty years makes a vast difference, 
sir," said the old gentleman. "To others it makes none 
—I haven't changed much, they tell me, during the past 
twenty years. But I 've known men change — age, almost 
beyond recognition! — in five years. It depends, sir, on 
what they go through." 

Spargo suddenly laid aside the photographs, put his 
hands in his pockets, and looked steadfastly at Mr. 
Quarterpage. 

"Look here!" he said. "I'm going to tell you what 
I'm after, Mr. Quarterpage. I'm sure you've heard all 
about what's known as the Middle Temple Murder — the 
Marbury case?" 

"Yes, I've read of it," replied Mr. Quarterpage. 

"Have you read the accounts of it in my paper, the 
Watchman f" asked Spargo. 

Mr. Quarterpage shook his head. 

"I've only read one newspaper, sir, since I was a 
young man," he replied. "I take the Times, sir— we 
always took it, aye, even in the days when newspapers 
were taxed." 

"Very good," said Spargo. "But perhaps I can tell 



MAITLAND ALIAS MARBURY 181 

you a little more than you've read, for I've been work- 
ing up that case ever since the body of the man known 
as John Marbury was found. Now, if you'll just give 
me your attention, I '11 tell you the whole story from that 
moment until — now." 

And Spargo, briefly, succinctly, re-told the story of 
the Marbury ease from the first instant of his own con- 
nection with it until the discovery of the silver ticket, 
and Mr. Quarterpage listened in rapt attention, nodding 
his head from time to time as the younger man made his 
points. 

"And now, Mr. Quarterpage," concluded Spargo, 
"this is the point I've come to. I believe that the man 
who came to the Anglo-Orient Hotel as John Marbury 
and who was undoubtedly murdered in Middle Temple 
Lane that night, was John Maitland — I haven't a doubt 
about it after learning what you tell me about the silver 
ticket. I 've found out a great deal that 's valuable here, 
and I think I 'm getting nearer to a solution of the mys- 
tery. That is, of course, to find out who murdered John 
Maitland, or Marbury. What you have told me about 
the Chamberlayne affair has led me to think this — there 
may have been people, or a person, in London, who was 
anxious to get Marbury, as we '11 call him, out of the way, 
and who somehow encountered him that night — anxious 
to silence him, I mean, because of the Chamberlayne af- 
fair. And I wondered, as there is so much mystery 
about him, and as he won't give any account of himself, 
if this man Aylmore was really Chamberlayne. Yes, I 
wondered that! But Aylmore 's a tall, finely-built man, 
quite six feet in height, and his beard, though it's now 



182 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

getting grizzled, has been very dark, and Chamberlayne, 
you say, was a medium-sized, fair man, with blue eyes." 

"That's so, sir," assented Mr. Quarterpage. "Yes, 
a middling-sized man, and fair— very fair. Deary me, 
Mr. Spargo ! — ^this is a revelation. And you really think, 
sir, that John Maitland and John Marbury are one and 
the same person ? ' ' 

"I'm sure of it, now," said Spargo. "I see it in this 
way. Maitland, on his release, went out to Australia, 
and there he stopped. At last he comes back, evidently 
well-to-do. He's murdered the very day of his arrival. 
Aylmore is the only man who knows anything of him — 
Aylmore won't tell all he knows; that's flat. But Ayl- 
more 's admitted that he knew him at some vague date, 
say from twenty-one to twenty-two or three years ago. 
Now, where did Aylmore know him? He says in Lon- 
don. That's a vague term. He won't say where — ^he 
won't say anything definite — he won't even say what 
he, Aylmore, himself was in those days. Do you recol- 
lect anything of anybody like Aylmore coming here to 
see Maitland, Mr. Quarterpage?" 

"I don't," answered Mr. Quarterpage. "Maitland 
was a very quiet, retiring fellow, sir: he was about the 
quietest man in the town. I never remember that he 
had visitors; certainly I've no recollection of such a 
friend of his as this Aylmore, from your description of 
him, would be at that time. ' ' 

"Did Maitland go up to London much in those days?" 
asked Spargo. 

Mr. Quarterpage laughed. 

"Well, now, to show you what a good memory I have," 



MAITLAND ALIAS MARBURY 183 

he said, " I '11 tell you of something that occurred across 
there at the 'Dragon' only a few months before the 
Maitland aifair came out. There were some of us in 
there one evening, and, for a rare thing, Maitland came 
in with Chamberlayne. Chamberlayne happened to re- 
mark that he was going up to town next day — he was 
always to and fro — and we got talking about London. 
And Maitland said in course of conversation, that he be- 
lieved he was about the only man of his age in England — 
and, of course, he meant of his class and means — who'd 
never even seen London! And I don't think he ever 
went there between that time and his trial: in fact, I'm 
sure he didn't, for if he had, I should have heard of it." 

"Well, that's queer," remarked Spargo. "It's very 
queer. For I'm certain Maitland and Marbury are one 
and the same person. My theory about that old leather 
box is that Maitland had that carefully planted before 
his arrest ; that he dug it up when he came out of Dart- 
moor; that he took it off to Australia with him; that 
he brought it back with him; and that, of course, the 
Silver ticket and the photograph had been in it all these 
years. Now ' ' 

At that moment the door of the library was opened, 
and a parlourmaid looked in at her master. 

"There's the boots from the 'Dragon' at the front 
door, sir," she said. "He's brought two telegrams 
across from there for Mr. Spargo, thinking he might like 
to have them at once." 



CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

ARRESTED 

Spargo hurried out to the hall, took the two telegrams 
from the boots of the "Dragon," and, tearing open the 
envelopes, read the messages hastily. He went back to 
Mr. Quarterpage. 

"Here's important news," he said as he closed the 
library door and resumed his seat. "I'll read these tele- 
grams to you, sir, and then we can discuss them in the 
light of what we've been talking about this morning. 
The first is from our office. I told you we sent over to 
Australia for a full report about Marbury at the place 
he said he hailed from — Coolumbidgee. That report's 
just reached the Watchman, and they've wired it on to 
me. It's from the chief of police at Coolumbidgee to 
the editor of the Watchman, London : — 

"John Marbury came to Coolumbidgee in the win- 
ter of 1898-9. He was unaccompanied. He appeared 
to be in possession of fairly considerable means and 
bought a share in a small sheep-farm from its proprie- 
tor, Andrew Robertson, who is still here, and who says 
that Marbury never told him anything about himself 
except that he had emigrated for health reasons and 
184 



ARRESTED 185 

was a widower. He mentioned that he had had a son 
who was dead, and was now without relations. He 
lived a very quiet, steady life on the sheep-farm, never 
leaving it for many years. About six months ago, 
however, he paid a visit to Melbourne, and on return- 
ing told Robertson that he had decided to return to 
England in consequence of some news he had received, 
and must therefore sell his share in the farm. Rob- 
ertson bought it from him for three thousand pounds, 
and Marbury shortly afterwards left for Melbourne. 
From what we could gather, Robertson thinks Mar- 
bury was probably in command of five or six thousand 
when he left Coolumbidgee. He told Robertson that 
he had met a man in Melbourne who had given him 
news that surprised him, but did not say what news. 
He had in his possession when he left Robertson ex- 
actly the luggage he brought with him when he came 
— a stout portmanteau and a small, square leather 
box. There are no effects of his left behind at Coolum- 
bidgee. ' ' 

"That's all," said Spargo, laying the first of the tele- 
grams on the table. "And it seems to me to signify a 
good deal. But now here's more startling news. This 
is from Rathbury, the Scotland Yard detective that I 
told you of, Mr. Quarterpage — he promised, you know, 
to keep me posted in what went on in my absence. 
Here's what he says: 

"Ftesh evidence tending to incriminate Aylmore 
has come to hand. Authorities have decided to arrest 



186 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

him on suspicion. You'd better hurry back if you 
want material for to-morrow's paper." 

Spargo threw that telegram down, too, waited while the 
old gentleman glanced at both of them with evident 
curiosity, and then jumped up. 

"Well, I shall have to go, Mr. Quarterpage, " he said. 
' ' I looked the trains out this morning so as to be in readi- 
ness. I can catch the 1.20 to Paddington — that'll get 
me in before half -past four. I've an hour yet. Now, 
there's another man I want to see in Market Milcaster. 
That's the photographer — or a photographer. You re- 
member I told you of the photograph found with the 
silver ticket? Well, I'm calculating that that photo- 
graph was taken here, and I want to see the man who 
took it — if he 's alive and I can find him. ' ' 

Mr. Quarterpage rose and put on his hat. 

"There's only one photographer in this town, sir," 
he said, "and he's been here for a good many years — 
Cooper. I'll take you to him — it's only a few doors 
away. ' ' 

Spargo wasted no time in letting the photographer 
know what he wanted. He put a direct question to Mr. 
Cooper — an elderly man. 

"Do you remember taking a photograph of the child 
of John Maitland, the bank manager, some twenty or 
twenty-one years ago?" he asked, after Mr. Quarter- 
page had introduced him as a gentleman from London 
who wanted to ask a few questions. 

"Quite well, sir," replied Mr. Cooper. "As well as 
if it had been yesterday." 



ARRESTED 187 

"Do you still happen to have a copy of it?" asked 
Spargo. 

But Mr. Cooper had already turned to a row of file 
albums. He took down one labelled 1891, and began to 
search its pages. In a minute or two he laid it on his 
table before his callers. 

"There you are, sir," he said. "That's the child!" 

Spargo gave one glance at the photograph and turned 
to Mr. Quarterpage. "Just as I thought," he said. 
"That's the same photograph we found in the leather 
box with the silver ticket. I'm obliged to you, Mr. 
Cooper. Now, there's just one more question I want to 
ask. Did you ever supply any further copies of this 
photograph to anybody after the Maitland afifair?— that 
is, after the family had left the town?" 

"Yes," replied the photographer. "I supplied half 
a dozen copies to Miss Baylis, the child's aunt, who, as 
a matter of fact, brought him here to be photographed. 
And I can give you her address, too," he continued, be- 
ginning to turn over another old file. ' ' I have it some- 
where. ' ' 

Mr. Quarterpage nudged Spargo. 

"That's something I couldn't have done!" he re- 
marked. "As I told you, she'd disappeared from 
Brighton when enquiries were made after Maitland's 
release. ' ' 

"Here you are," said Mr. Cooper. "I sent six copies 
of that photograph to Miss Baylis in April, 1895. 
Her address was then 6, Chichester Square, Bays- 
water, W." 

Spargo rapidly wrote this address down, thanked the 



188 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

photographer for his courtesy, and went out with Mr. 
Quarterpage. In the street he turned to the old gentle- 
man with a smile. 

"Well, I don't think there's much doubt about that!" 
he exclaimed. "Maitland and Marbury are the same 
man, Mr. Quarterpage. I'm as certain of that as that 
I see your Town Hall there." 

"And what will you do next, sir?" enquired Mr. 
Quarterpage. 

"Thank you — as I do — for all your kindness and as- 
sistance, and get off to town by this 1.20," replied 
Spargo. "And I shan't fail to let you know how things 
go on." 

"One moment," said the old gentleman, as Spargo 
was hurrying away, "do you think this Mr. Aylmore 
really murdered Maitland ? ' ' 

"No!" answered Spargo with emphasis. "I don't! 
And I think we've got a good deal to do before we find 
out who did." 

Spargo purposely let the Marbury ease drop out of 
his mind during his journey to town. He ate a hearty 
lunch in the train and talked with his neighbours; it 
was a relief to let his mind and attention turn to some- 
thing else than the theme which had occupied it unceas- 
ingly for so many days. But at Reading the newspaper 
boys were shouting the news of the arrest of a Member 
of Parliament, and Spargo, glancing out of the window, 
caught sight of a newspaper placard : 

The Mabbdry Mxtkder Case 
Arrest op Mk. Aylmore 



ARRESTED 189 

He snatched a paper from a boy as the train moved out 
and, unfolding it, found a mere announcement in the 
space reserved for stop-press news : 

"Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., was arrested at two 
o'clock this afternoon, on his way to the House of 
Commons, on a charge of being concerned in the mur- 
der of John Marbury in Middle Temple Lane on the 
night of June 21st last. It is understood he will be 
brought up at Bow Street at ten o'clock tomorrow 
morning." 

Spargo hurried to New Scotland Yard as soon as he 
reached Paddington. He met Rathbury coming away 
fromJiis room. At sight of him, the detective turned 
back. 

' ' Well, so there you are ! " he said. ' ' I suppose you 've 
heard the news?" 

Spargo nodded as he dropped into a chair. 

"What led to it?" he asked abruptly. "There must 
have been something." 

"There was something," he replied. "The thing — 
stick, bludgeon, whatever you like to call it, some foreign 
article — ^with which Marbury was struck down was found 
last night." 

"Well?" asked Spargo. 

"It was proved to be Aylmore 's property," answered 
Rathbury. "It was a South American curio that he 
had in his rooms in Fountain Court. ' ' 

"Where was it found?" asked Spargo. 

Rathbury laughed. 



190 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"He was a clumsy fellow who did it, whether he was 
Aylmore or whoever he was!" he replied. "Do you 
know, it had been dropped into a sewer-trap in Middle 
Temple Lane — actually ! Perhaps the murderer thought 
it would be washed out into the Thames and float away. 
But, of course, it was bound to come to light. A sewer 
man found it yesterday evening, and it was quickly 
recognized by the woman who cleans up for Aylmore 
as having been in his rooms ever since she knew them." 

"What does Aylmore say about it?" asked Spargo. 
' ' I suppose he 's said something ? ' ' 

"Says that the bludgeon is certainly his, and that he 
brought it from South America with him," announced 
Rathbury; "but that he doesn't remember seeing it in 
his rooms for some time, and thinks that it was stolen 
from them." 

"Um!" said Spargo, musingly. "But — how do you 
know that was the thing that Marbury was struck down 
with?" 

Rathbury smiled grimly. 

"There's some of his hair on it — mixed with bbod," 
he answered. "No doubt about that. Well — anything 
come of your jaunt westward ? ' ' 

' ' Yes, ' ' replied Spargo. ' ' Lots ! ' ' 

"Good?" asked Rathbury. 

"Extra good. I've found out who Marbury really 
was." 

"No! Really?" 

' ' No doubt, to my mind. I 'm certain of it. ' ' 

Rathbury sat down at his desk, watching Spargo with 
rapt attention. 



ARRESTED 191 

"And who was he?" he asked. 

"John Maitland, once of Market Mileaster," replied 
Spargo. "Ex-bank manager. Also ex-convict." 

"Ex-convict!" 

"Ex-convict. He was sentenced, at Market Mileaster 
Quarter Sessions, in autumn, 1891, to ten years' penal 
servitude, for embezzling the bank's money, to the tune 
of over two hundred thousand pounds. Served his term 
at Dartmoor. Went to Australia as soon, or soon after, 
he came out. That's who Marbury was — Maitland. 
Dead — certain ! ' ' 

Rathbury still stared at his caller. 

" Go on ! " he said. "Tell all about it, Spargo. Let 's 
hear every detail. I'll tell you all I know after. But 
what I know's nothing to that." 

Spargo told him the whole story of his adventures at 
Market Mileaster, and the detective listened with rapt 
attention. 

"Yes," he said at the end. "Yes— I don't think 
there's much doubt about that. Well, that clears up a 
lot, doesn't it?" 

Spargo yawned. 

"Yes, a whole slate full is wiped off there," he said. 
"I haven't so much interest in Marbury, or Maitland 
now. My interest is all in Aylmore. ' ' 

Rathbury nodded. 

"Yes," he said. "The thing to find out is— who is 
Aylmore, or who was he, twenty years ago?" 

"Your people haven't found anything out, then?" 
asked Spargo. 

"Nothing beyond the irreproachable history of Mr. 



192 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Aylmore since he returned to this country, a very rich 
man, some ten yeajs since," answered Rathbury, smil- 
ing. "They've no previous dates to go on. What are 
you going to do next, Spargo?" 

' ' Seek out that Miss Baylis, ' ' replied Spargo. 

"You think you could get something there?" asked 
Rathbury. 

"Look here!" said Spargo. "I don't believe for a 
second Aylmore killed Marbury. I believe I shall get 
at the truth by following up what I call the Maitland 
trail. This Miss Baylis must know something — if she's 
alive. "Well, now I'm going to report at the. office. 
Keep in touch with me, Rathbury." 

He went on then to the Watchmcm office, and as he 
got out of his taxi-cab at its door, another cab came up 
and set down Mr. Aylmore 's daughters. 



CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 

THE BLANK PAST 

Jessie Aylmore came forward to meet Spargo with 
ready confidence ; the elder girl hung back diffidently. 

' ' May we speak to you ? ' ' said Jessie. ' ' We have come 
on purpose to speak to you. Evelyn didn't want to 
come, but I made her come. ' ' 

Spargo shook hands silently with Evelyn Aylmore and 
motioned them both to follow him. He took them 
straight upstairs to his room and bestowed them in his 
easiest chairs before he addressed them. 

"I've only just got back to town," he said abruptly. 
"I was sorry to hear the news about your father. That's 
what's brought you here, of course. But — I'm afraid 
I can 't do much. ' ' 

"I told you that we had no right to trouble Mr,. 
Spargo, Jessie," said Evelyn Aylmore. "What can 
he do to help us ? " 

Jessie shook her head impatiently. 

"The Watchman's about the most powerful paper in 
London, isn't it?" she said. "And isn't Mr. Spargo 
writing all these articles about the Marbury case? Mr. 
Spargo, you must help us ! " 

Spargo sat down at his desk and beg^an turning over 
the letters and papers which had accumulated during his 
absence. 

193 



194 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

" To be absolutely frank with you, ' ' he said, presently, 
"I don't see how anybody's going to help, so long as 
your father keeps up that mystery about the past. ' ' 

"That," said Evelyn, quietly, "is exactly what Ron- 
ald says, Jessie. But we can't make our father speak, 
Mr. Spargo. That he is as innocent as we are of this 
terrible crime we are certain, and we don't know why 
he wouldn't answer the questions put to him at the 
inquest. And — we know no more than you know or any- 
one knows, and though I have begged my father to speak, 
he won 't say a word. We saw his danger : Ronald — ^Mr. 
Breton — told us, and we implored him to tell everything 
he knew about Mr. Marbury. But so far he has simply 
laughed at the idea that he had anything to do with the 
murder, or could be arrested for it, and now " 

"And now he's locked up," said Spargo in his usual 
matter-of-fact fashion. "Well, there are people who 
have to be saved from themselves, you know. Perhaps 
you'll have to save your father from the consequences 
of his own — shall we say obstinacy? Now, look here, 
between ourselves, how much do you know about your 
father's— past?" 

The two sisters looked at each other and then at 
Spargo. 

"Nothing," said the elder. 

"Absolutely nothing!" said the younger. 

* ' Answer a few plain questions, ' ' said Spargo. " I 'm 
not going to print your replies, nor make use of them in 
any way: I'm only asking the questions with a desire to 
help^you. Have you any relations in England?" 



THE BLANK PAST 195 

"Nonp that we know of," replied Evelyn. 

"Nobody you could go to for information about the 
past?" asked Spargo. 

"No— nobody!" 

Spargo drummed his fingers on his blotting-pad. He 
was thinking hard. 

"How old is your father?" he asked suddenly. 

"He was fifty-nine a few weeks ago," answered Eve- 
lyn. 

"And how old are you, and how old is your sister?" 
demanded Spargo. 

"I am twenty, and Jessie is nearly nineteen." 

"Where were you born?" 

"Both of us at San Gregorio, which is in the San 
Jose province of Argentina, north of Monte Video." 

' 'Tour father was in business there ? ' ' 

"He was in business in the export trade, Mr. Spargo. 
There's no secret about that. He exported all sorts of 
things to England and to France — skins, hides, wools, 
dried salts, fruit. That's how he made his money." 

"You don't know how long he'd been there when you 
were born ? ' ' 

"No." 

"Was he married when he went out there?" 

"No, he wasn't. We do know that. He 's told us the 
circumstances of his marriage, because they were ro- 
mantic. When he sailed from England to Buenos 
Ayres, he met on the steamer a young lady who, he said, 
was like himself, relationless and nearly friendless. She 
was going out to Argentina as a governess. She and 



196 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

my father fell in love with each other, and they were 
married in Buenos Ayres soon after the steamer ar- 
rived." 

"And your mother is dead?" 

"My mother died before we came to England. I was 
eight years old, and Jessie six, then. ' ' 

"And you came to England — how long after that?" 

"Two years." 

"So that you've been in England ten years. And 
you know nothing whatever of your father's past be- 
yond what you've told me?" 

"Nothing — absolutely nothing." 

"Never heard him talk of — ^you see, according to your 
account, your father was a man of getting on to forty 
when he went out to Argentina. He must have had a 
career of some sort in this country. Have you never 
heard him speak of his boyhood ? Did he never talk of 
old times, or that sort of thing?" 

"I never remember hearing my father speak of any 
period antecedent to his marriage," replied Evelyn. 

"I once asked him a question about his childhood," 
said Jessie. "He answered that his early days had not 
been very happy ones, and that he had done his best to 
forget them. So I never asked him anything again." 

"So that it really comes to this," remarked Spargo. 
"You know nothing whatever about your father, his 
family, his fortunes, his life, beyond what you yourselves 
have observed since you were able to observe? That's 
about it, isn't it?" 

"I should say that that is exactly it," answered 
Evelyn. 



THE BLANK PAST 197 

"Just so," said Spargo. "And therefore, as I told 
your sister the other day, the public will say that your 
father has some dark secret behind him, and that Mar- 
bury had possession of it, and that your father killed 
him in order to silence him. That isn't my view. I not 
only believe your father to be absolutely innocent, but 
I believe that he knows no more than a child unborn of 
Marbury's murder, and I'm doing my best to find out 
who that murderer was. By the by, since you '11 see all 
about it in tomorrow morning's Watchman, I may as 
well tell you that I've found out who Marbury really 
was. He " 

At this moment Spargo 's door was opened and in 
walked Bonald Breton. He shook his head at sight of 
the two sisters. 

"I thought I should find you here," he said. "Jessie 
said she was coming to see you, Spargo. I don't know 
what good you can do — I don't see what good the most 
powerful newspaper in the world can do. My God! — 
everything's about as black as ever it can be. Mr. 
Aylmore — I've just come away from him; his solicitor, 
Stratton, and I have been with him for an hour — is ob- 
stinate as ever — he will not tell more than he has told. 
Whatever good can you do, Spargo, when he won 't speak 
about that knowledge of Marbury which he must have 1 ' ' 

"Oh, well!" said Spargo. "Perhaps we can give 
him some information about Marbury. Mr. Aylmore 
has forgotten that it's not such a difficult thing to rake 
up the past as he seems to think it is. For example, as 
I was just telling these young ladies, I myself have dis- 
covered who Marbury really was." 



198 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Breton started. 

"You have? Without doubt?" he exclaimed. 

"Without reasonable doubt. Marbury was an ex- 
eonvict. ' ' 

Spargo watched the effect of this sudden announce- 
ment. The two girls showed no sign of astonishment 
or of unusual curiosity ; they received the news with as 
much unconcern as if Spargo had told them that Mar- 
bury was a famous musician. But Ronald Breton 
started, and it seemed to Spargo that he saw a sense of 
suspicion dawn in his eyes. 

"Marbury — an ex-convict!" he exclaimed. "You 
mean that?" 

"Read your Watchman in the morning," said Spargo. 
"You'll find the whole story there — I'm going to write 
it tonight when you people have gone. It'll make good 
reading. ' ' 

Evelyn and Jessie Aylmore took Spargo 's hint and 
went away, Spargo seeing them to the door with another 
assurance of his belief in their father's innocence and 
his determination to hunt down the real criminal. Ron- 
ald Breton went down with them to the street and saw 
them into a cab, but in another minute he was back in 
Spargo 's room as Spargo had expected. He shut the 
door carefully behind him and turned to Spargo with 
an eager face. 

' ' I say, Spargo, is that really so ? " he asked. ' ' About 
Marbury being an ex-convict?" 

"That's so, Breton. I've no more doubt about it than 
I have that I see you. Marbury was in reality one John 
Maitland, a bank manager, of Market Milcaster, who 



THE BLANK PAST 199 

got ten years' penal servitude in 1891 for embezzle- 
ment. ' ' 

"In 1891? Why— that's just about the time that 
Aylmore says he knew him ! ' ' 

"Exactly. And — ^it just strikes me," said Spargo, 
sitting down at his desk and making a hurried note, "it 
just strikes me — didn't Aylmore say he knew Marbury 
in London ? ' ' 

"Certainly," replied Breton. "In London." 

' ' Um ! ' ' mused Spargo. ' ' That's queer, because Mait- 
land had never been in London up to the time of his go- 
ing to Dartmoor, whatever he may have done when he 
came out of Dartmoor, £ind, of course, Aylmore had gone 
to South America long before that. Look here, Breton, ' ' 
he continued, aloud, "have you access to Aylmore 1 Will 
you, can you, see him before he's brought up at Bow 
Street tomorrow?" 

"Yes," answered Breton. "I can see him with his 
solicitor. ' ' 

"Then listen," said Spargo. "Tomorrow morning 
you'll find the whole story of how I proved Marbury 's 
identity with Maitland in the Watchman. Read it as 
early as you can ; get an interview with Aylmore as early 
as you can; make him read it, every word, before 
he's brought up. Beg him if he values his own safety 
and his daughters' peace of mind to throw away all that 
foolish reserve, and to tell all he knows about Maitland 
twenty years ago. He should have done that at first. 
Why, I was asking his daughters some questions before 
you came in — they know absolutely nothing of their 
father's history previous to the time when they began to 



200 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

understand things! Don't you see that Aylmore's ca- 
reer, previous to his return to England, is a blank past?" 

"I know— I know!" said Breton. "Yes— although 
I've gone there a great deal, I never heard Aylmore 
speak of anything earlier than his Argentine experiences. 
And yet, he must have been getting on when he went 
out there." 

"Thirty-seven or eight, at least," remarked Sparge. 
"Well, Aylmore's more or less of a public man, and no 
public man can keep his life hidden nowadays. By the 
by, how did you get to know the Aylmores ? ' ' 

"My guardian, Mr. Elphick, and I met them in 
Switzerland," answered Breton. "We kept up the ac- 
quaintance after our return." 

"Mr. Elphick still interesting himself in the Mar- 
bury case 1 ' ' asked Spargo. 

"Very much so. And so is old Cardlestone, at the 
foot of whose stairs the thing came off. I dined with 
them last night and they talked of little else," said 
Breton. 

"And their theory " 

"Oh, still the murder for the sake of robbery!" re- 
plied Breton. "Old Cardlestone is furious that such a 
thing could have happened at his very door. He says 
that there ought to be a thorough enquiry into every 
tenant of the Temple." 

"Longish business that," observed Spargo. "Well, 
run away now, Breton — I must write. ' ' 

"Shall you be at Bow Street tomorrow morning i" 
asked Breton as he moved to the door. "It's to be at 
ten-thirty." 



THE BLANK PAST 201 

"No, I shan't!" replied Spargo. "It'll only be a 
remand, and I know already just as much as I should 
hear there. I've got something much more important 
to do. But you'll remember what I asked of you — get 
Aylmore to read my story in the Watchman, and beg him 
to speak out and tell all he knows — all ! ' ' 

And when Breton had gone, Spargo again murmured 
those last words : "AU he knows — all!" 



CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 

MISS BAYLIS 

Next day, a little before noon, Sparge found himself 
in one of those pretentious yet dismal Bayswater squares, 
which are almost entirely given up to the trade, calling, 
or occupation of the lodging and boarding-house keeper. 
They are very pretentious, those squares, with their 
many-storied houses, their stuccoed frontages, and their 
pilastered and balconied doorways; innocent country 
folk, coming into them from the neighbouring station of 
Paddington, take them to be the residences of the dukes 
and earls who, of course, live nowhere else but in Lon- 
don. They are further encouraged in this belief by the 
fact that young male persons in evening dress are often 
seen at the doorways in more or less elegant attitudes. 
These, of course, are taken by the country folk to be 
young lords enjoying the air of Bayswater, but others, 
more knowing, are aware that they are Swiss or German 
waiters whose linen might be cleaner. 

Spargo gauged the character of the house at which he 
called as soon as the door was opened to him. There was 
the usual smell of eggs and bacon, of fish and chops; the 
usual mixed and ancient collection of overcoats, wraps, 
and sticks in the hall ; the usual sort of parlourmaid to 
answer the bell. And presently, in answer to his en- 
quiries, there was the usual type of landlady confront- 

202 



MISS BAYLIS g03 

ing him, a more than middle-aged person who desired to 
look younger, and made attempts in the way of false 
hair, teeth, and a little rouge, and who wore that some- 
what air and smile which in its wearer — under these 
circumstances— always means that she is considering 
whether you will be able to cheat her or whether she 
will be able to see you. 

"You wish to see Miss Baylis?" said this person, ex- 
amining Spargo closely. "Miss Baylis does not often 
see anybody." 

"I hope," said Spargo politely, "that Miss Baylis is 
not an invalid?" 

"No, she's not an invalid," replied the landlady; 
"but she's not as young as she was, and she's an objec- 
tion to strangers. Is it anything I can tell her?" 

"No," said Spargo. "But you can, if you please, 
take her a message from me. Will you kindly give her 
my card, and tell her that I wish to ask her a question 
about John Maitland of Market Milcaster, and that I 
should be much obliged if she would give me a few min- 
utes." 

"Perhaps you will sit down," said the landlady. She 
led Spargo into a room which opened out upon a garden ; 
in it two or three old ladies, evidently inmates, were 
sitting. The landlady left Spargo to sit with them and 
to amuse himself by watching them knit or sew or read 
the papers, and he wondered if they always did these 
things every day, and if they would go on doing them 
until a day would come when they would do them no 
more, and he was beginning to feel very dreary when the 
door opened and a woman entered whom Spargo, after 



204 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

one sharp glance at her, decided to be a person who was 
undoubtedly out of the common. And as she slowly 
walked across the room towards him he let his first glance 
lengthen into a look of steady inspection. 

The woman whom Spargo thus narrowly inspected 
was of very remarkable appearance. She was almost 
masculine; she stood nearly six feet in height; she was 
of a masculine gait and tread, and spare, muscular, and 
athletic. What at once struck Spargo about her face 
was the strange contrast between her dark eyes and her 
white hair ; the hair, worn in abundant coils round a well- 
shaped head, was of the most snowy whiteness ; the eyes 
of a real coal-blackness, as were also the eyebrows above 
them. The features were well-cut and of a striking 
firmness ; the jaw square and determined. And Spargo 's 
first thought on taking all this in was that Miss Baylis 
seemed to have been fitted by Nature to be a prison ward- 
ress, or the matron of a hospital, or the governess of 
an unruly girl, and he began to wonder if he would ever 
manage to extract anything out of those firmly-locked 
lips. 

Miss Baylis, on her part, looked Spargo over as if she 
was half-minded to order him to instant execution. 
And Spargo was so impressed by her that he made a 
profound bow and found a difficulty in finding his 
tongue. 

"Mr. Spargo?" she said in a deep voice which seemed 
peculiarly suited to her. "Of, I see, the Watchmmf 
You wish to speak to me?" 

Spargo again bowed in silence. She signed him to the 
window near which they were standing. 



MISS BAYLIS 205 

"Open the casement, if you please," she commanded 
him. "We will walk in the garden. This is not pri- 
vate." 

Spargo obediently obeyed her orders; she swept 
through the opened window and he followed her. It 
was not until they had reached the bottom of the garden 
that she spoke again. 

"I understand that you desire to ask me some question 
about John Maitland, of Market Milcaster?" she said. 
"Before you put it, I must ask you a question. Do you 
wish any reply I may give you for publication?" 

"Not without your permission," replied Spargo. "I 
should not think of publishing anything you may tell 
me except with your express permission. ' ' 

She looked at him gloomily, seemed to gather an im- 
pression of his good faith, and nodded her head. 

"In that case," she said, "what do you want to 
ask?" 

"I have lately had reason for making certain en- 
quiries about John Maitland," answered Spargo. "I 
suppose you read the newspapers and possibly the 
Watchman, Miss Bay lis ? ' ' 

But Miss Baylis shook her head. 

"I read no newspapers," she said. "I have no in- 
terest in the affairs of the world. I have work which 
occupies all my time : I give my whole devotion to it. ' ' 

"Then you have not recently heard of what is known 
as the Marbury case — a case of a man who was found 
murdered?" asked Spargo. 

"I have not," she answered. "I am not likely to hear 
such things." 



206 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo suddenly realized that the power of the Press 
is not quite as great nor as far-reaching as very young 
journalists hold it to be, and that there actually are, even 
in London, people who can live quite cheerfully without 
a newspaper. He concealed his astonishment and went 
on. 

"Well," he said, "I believe that the murdered man, 
known to the police as John Marbury, was, in reality, 
your brother-in-law, John Maitland. In fact. Miss 
Baylis, I'm absolutely certain of it!" 

He made this declaration with some emphasis, and 
looked at his stern companion to see how she was im- 
pressed. But Miss Baylis showed no sign of being im- 
pressed. 

"I can quite believe that, Mr. Spargo," she said 
coldly. "It is no surprise to me that John Maitland 
should come to such an end. He was a thoroughly bad 
and unprincipled man, who brought the most terrible 
disgrace on those who were, unfortunately, connected 
with him. He was likely to die a bad man's death." 

"I may ask you a few questions about him?" sug- 
gested Spargo in his most insinuating manner. 

"You may, so long as you do not drag my name into 
the papers," she replied. "But pray, how do you know 
that I have the sad shame of being John Maitland 's 
sister-in-law ? ' ' 

"I found that out at Market Mileaster," said Spargo. 
"The photographer told me — Cooper." 

"Ah!" she exclaimed. 

"The questions I want to ask are very simple," said 
Spargo. "But your answers may materially help me. 



MISS BAYLIS 207 

You remember Maitland going to prison, of course?" 

Miss Baylis laughed — a laugh of scorn. 

"Could I ever forget it?" she exclaimed. 

"Did you ever visit him in prison?" asked Spargo. 

"Visit him in prison!" she said indignantly. 
"Visits in prison are to be paid to those who deserve 
them, who are repentant; not to scoundrels who are 
hardened in their sin ! " 

"All right. Did you ever see him after he left 
prison ? ' ' 

"I saw him, for he forced himself .upon me — I could 
not help myself. He was in my presence before I was 
aware that he had even been released." 

"What did he come for?" asked Spargo. 

"To ask for his son — who had been in my charge," she 
replied. 

"That's a thing I want to know about," said Spargo. 
"Do you know what a certain lot of people in Market 
Milcaster say to this day. Miss Baylis? — they say that 
you were in at the game with Maitland; that you had 
a lot of the money placed in your charge; that when 
Maitland went to prison, you took the child away, first 
to Brighton, then abroad — disappeared with him — and 
that you made a home ready for Maitland when he came 
out. That's what's said by some people in Market Mil- 
caster. ' ' 

Miss Baylis 's stern lips curled. 

"People in Market Milcaster!" she exclaimed. "All 
the people I ever knew in Market Milcaster had about 
as many brains between them as that cat on the wall 
there. As for making a home for John Maitland, I 



208 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

would have seen him die in the gutter, of absolute want, 
before I would have given him a crust of dry bread!" 

"You appear to have a terrible dislike of this man," 
observed Spargo, astonished at her vehemence. 

"I had — and I have," she answered. "He tricked 
my sister into a marriage with him when he knew that 
she would rather have married an honest man who wor- 
shipped her; he treated her with quiet, infernal cruelty; 
he robbed her and me of the small fortunes our father 
left us." 

"Ah!" said Spargo. "Well, so you say Maitland 
came to you, when he came out of prison, to ask for his 
boy. Did he take the boy?" 

"No — the boy was dead." 

"Dead, eh? Then I suppose Maitland did not stop 
long with you?" 

Miss Baylis laughed her scornful laugh. 

"I showed him the door!" she said. 

"Well, did he tell you that he was going to Aus- 
tralia?" enquired Spargo. 

"I should not have listened to anything that he told 
me, Mr. Spargo," she answered. 

"Then, in short," said Spargo, "you never heard of 
him again?" 

"T never heard of him again," she declared passion- 
ately, "and I only hope that what you tell me is true, 
and that Marbury really was Maitland !" 



CHAPTER TWENTY-POUR 

MOTHER GDTCH 

Spargo, having exhausted the list of questions which 
he had thought out on his way to Bayswater, was about 
to take his leave of Miss Baylis, when a new idea sud- 
denly occurred to him, and he turned back to that 
formidable lady. 

"I've just thought of something else," he said. "I 
told you that I'm certain Marbury was Maitland, and 
that he came to a sad end — murdered." 

"And I've told you," she replied scornfully, "that 
in my opinion no end could be too bad for him." 

"Just so — I understand you," said Spargo. "But 
I didn't tell you that he was not only murdered but 
robbed — robbed of probably a good deal. There's good 
reason to believe that he had securities, bank notes, loose 
diamonds, and other things on him to the value of a large 
amount. He'd several thousand pounds when he left 
Coolumbidgee, in New South Wales, where he'd lived 
quietly for some years. ' ' 

Miss Baylis smiled sourly. 

"What's all this to me?" she asked. 

"Possibly nothing. But you see, that money, those 
securities, may be recovered. And as the boy you speak 

209 



210 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

of is dead, there surely must be somebody who's entitled 
to the lot. It's worth having, Miss Baylis, and there's 
strong belief on the part of the police that it will turn 
up." 

This was a bit of ingenious bluff on the part of 
Spargo ; he watched its effect with keen eyes. But Miss 
Baylis was adamant, and she looked as scornful as ever. 

"I say again what's all that to me?" she exclaimed. 

"Well, but hadn't the dead boy any relatives on his 
father 's side ? ' ' asked Spargo. ' ' I know you 're his aunt 
on the mother's side, and as you're indifferent perhaps, 
I can find some on the other side. It's very easy to find 
all these things out, you know. ' ' 

Miss Baylis, who had begun to stalk back to the house 
in gloomy and majestic fashion, and had let Spargo see 
plainly that this part of the interview was distasteful to 
her, suddenly paused in her stride and glared at the 
young journalist. 

"Easy to find all these things out?" she repeated. 

Spargo caught, or fancied he caught, a note of anxiety 
in her tone. He was quick to turn his fancy to practical 
purpose. 

"Oh, easy enough!" he said. "I could find out all 
about Maitland's family through that boy. Quite, quite 
easily!" 

Miss Baylis had stopped now, and stood glaring at 
him. "How?" she demanded. 

"I'll tell you," said Spargo with cheerful alacrity. 

"It is, of course, the easiest thing in the world to trace 

all about his short life. I suppose I can find the register 

• of his birth at Market Milcaster, and you, of course, will 



MOTHER GUTCH gll 

tell me where he died. By the by, when did he die, Miss 
BayUs?" 

But Miss Baylis was going on again to the house. 

"I shall tell you nothing more,'' she said angrily. 
"I've told you too much already, and I believe all you're 
here for is to get some news for your paper. But I will, 
at any rate tell you this — when Maitland went to prison 
his child would have been defenceless but for me; he'd 
have had to go to the workhouse but for me ; he hadn 't a 
single relation in the world but me, on either father's or 
mother's side. And even at my age, old woman as I 
am, I'd rather beg my bread in the street, I'd rather 
starve and die, than touch a penny piece that had come 
from John Maitland ! That 's all. ' ' 

Then without further word, without offering to show 
Spargo the way out, she marched in at the open win- 
dow and disappeared. And Spargo, knowing no other 
way, was about to follow her when he heard a sudden 
rustling sound in the shadow by which they had stood, 
and the next moment a queer, cracked, horrible voice, 
suggesting all sorts of things, said distinctly and yet in a 
whisper : 

"Young man!" 

Spargo turned and stared at the privet hedge behind 
him. It was thick and bushy, and in its full summer 
green, but it seemed to him that he saw a nondescript 
shape behind. ' ' Who 's there ? " he demanded. ' ' Some- 
body listening?" 

There was a curious cackle of laughter from behind 
the hedge; then the cracked, husky voice spoke again. 

"Young man, don't you move or look as if you were 



212 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

talking to anybody. Do you know where the 'King of 
Madagascar ' public-house is in this quarter of the town, 
young man?" 

"No!" answered Spargo. "Certainly not!" 

"Well, anybody '11 teU you when you get outside, young 
man," continued the queer voice of the unseen person. 
"Go there, and wait at the corner by the 'King of 
Madagascar,' and I'll come there to you at the end of 
half an hour. Then I '11 tell you something, young man 
— I'll tell you something. Now run away, young man, 
run away to the 'King of Madagascar' — I'm coming!" 

The voice ended in low, horrible cachinnation which 
made Spargo fed queer. But he was young enough to 
be in love with adventure, and he immediately turned on 
his heel without so much as a glance at the privet hedge, 
and went across the garden and through the house, and 
let himself out at the door. And at the next comer of 
the square he met a policeman and asked him if he knew 
where the "King of Madagascar" was. 

"First to the right, second to the left," answered the 
policemaa tersely. "You can't miss it anywhere round 
there — ^it's a landmark." 

And Spargo found the landmark — a great, square- 
built tavern — easily, and he waited at a comer of it won- 
dering what he was going to see, and intensely curious 
about the owner of the queer voice, with all its sugges- 
tions of he knew not what. And suddenly there came 
up to him an old woman and leered at him in a fashion 
that made him suddenly realize how dreadful old age 
may be. 

Spargo had never seen such an old woman as this in 



MOTHER GUTCH 213 

his life. She was dressed respectably, better than re- 
spectably. Her gown was good; her bonnet was smart; 
her smaller fittings were good. But her face was evil; 
it showed unmistakable signs of a long devotion to the 
bottle; the old eyes leered and ogled, the old lips were 
wicked. Spargo felt a sense of disgust almost amount- 
ing to nausea, but he was going to hear what the old 
harridan had to say and he tried not to look what he 
felt. 

' ' Well ? " he said, almost roughly. ' ' Well ? ' ' 

"Well, young man, there you are," said his new ac- 
qujiintance. "Let us go inside, young man; there's a 
quiet little place where a lady can sit and take her drop 
of gin — I'll show you. And if you're good to me, I'll 
tell you something about that cat that you were talking 
to just now. But you'll give me a little matter to put 
in my pocket, young man? Old ladies like me have a 
right to buy little comforts, you know, little comforts." 

Spargo followed this extraordinary person into a small 
parlour within; the attendant who came in response to 
a ring showed no astonishment at her presence ; he also 
seemed to know exactly what she required, which was 
a certain brand of gin, sweetened, and warm. • And 
Spargo watched her curiously as with shaking hand she 
pushed up the veil which hid little of her wicked old 
face, and lifted the glass to her mouth with a zest which 
was not thirst but pure greed of liquor. Almost in- 
stantly he saw a new light steal into her eyes, and she 
laughed in a voice that grew clearer with every sound 
she made. 

"Ah, young man!" she said with a confidential nudge 



214 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

of the elbow that made Sparge long to get up and fly. 
"I wanted that! It's done me good. When I've fin- 
ished that, you'll pay for another for me — and perhaps 
another? They'll do me still more good. And you'll 
give me a little matter of money, won't you, young 
man?" 

"Not till I know what I'm giving it for," replied 
Spargo. 

"You'll be giving it because I'm going to tell you 
that if it's made worth my while I can tell you, or some- 
body that sent you, more about Jane Baylis than anybody 
in the world. I 'm not going to tell you that now, young 
man — I'm sure you don't carry in your pocket what 
I shall want for my secret, not you, by the look of you ! 
I'm only going to show you that I have the secret. 
Eh?" 

"Who are you?" asked Spargo. 

The woman leered and chuckled. "What are you go- 
ing to give me, young man?" she asked. 

Spargo put his fingers in his pocket and pulled out 
two half-sovereigns. 

"Look here," he said, showing his companion the 
coins, "if you can tell me anything of importance you 
shall have these. But no trifling, now. And no wast- 
ing of time. If you have anything to tell, out with it!" 

The woman stretched out a trembling, claw-like hand. 

"But let me hold one of those, young man!" she im- 
plored. "Let me hold one of the beautiful bits of gold. 
I shall tell you all the better if I hold one of them. Let 
me — there's a good young gentleman." 



MOTHER GUTCH 215 

Spargo gave her one of the coins, and resigned him- 
self to his fate, whatever it might be. 

"You won't get the other unless you tell something," 
he said. "Who are you, anyway?" 

The woman, who had begun mumbling and chuckling 
over the half-sovereign, grinned horribly. 

"At the boarding-house yonder, young man, they 
call me Mother Gutch," she answered; "but my proper 
name is Mrs. Sabina Gutch, and once upon a time I was 
a good-looking young woman. And when my husband 
died I went to Jane Baylis as housekeeper, and when she 
retired from that and came to live in that boarding- 
house where we live now, she was forced to bring me 
with her and to keep me. Why had she to do that, young 
man?" 

' ' Heaven knows ! ' ' answered Spargo. 

"Because I've got a hold on her, young man — I've 
got a secret of hers," continued Mother Gutch. "She'd 
be scared to death if she knew I'd been behind that 
hedge and had heard what she said to you, and she'd 
be more than scared if she knew that you and I were 
here, talking. But she's grown hard and near with 
me, and she won 't give me a penny to get a drop of any- 
thing with, and an old woman like me has a right to 
her little comforts, and if you'll buy the secret, young 
man, I '11 split on her, there and then, when you pay the 
money." 

"Before I talk about buying any secret," said Spargo, 
"you'll have to prove to me that you've a secret to sell 
that's worth my buying." 



216 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"And I will prove it!" said Mother Gutch with sud- 
den fierceness. "Touch the bell, and let me have an- 
other glass, and then I'll tell you. Now," she went on, 
more quietly — Spargo noticed that the more she drank, 
the more rational she became, and chat her nerves seemed 
to gain strength and her whole appearance to be im- 
proved — "now, you came to her to find out about her 
brother-in-law, Maitland, that went to prison, didn't 
you?" 

"Well?" demanded Spargo. 

"And about that boy of his?" she continued. 

"You heard all that was said," answered Spargo. 
"I'm waiting to hear what you have to say." 

But Mother Gutch was resolute in having her own 
way. She continued her questions: 

"And she told you that Maitland came and asked for 
the boy, and that she told him the boy was dead, didn't 
she?" she went on. 

"Well?" said Spargo despairingly. "She did. 
What then?" 

Mother Gutch took an appreciative pull at her glass 
and smiled knowingly. "What then?" she chuckled. 
"All lies, young man, the boy isn't dead — anv more than 
I am. And my secret is " 

"Well?" demanded Spargo impatiently. "What is 
it?" 

"This!" answered Mother Gutch, digging her com- 
panion in the ribs, "I know what she did with him!" 



CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 

REVELATIONS 

Spargo turned on his disreputable and dissolute com- 
panion with all his journalistic energies and instincts 
roused. He had not been sure, since entering the "King 
of Madagascar," that he was going to hear anything 
material to the Middle Temple Murder; he had more 
than once feared that this old gin-drinking harridan was 
deceiving him, for the purpose of extracting drink and 
money from him. But now, at the mere prospect of 
getting important information from her, he forgot all 
about Mother Guteh's unfortunate propensities, evil 
eyes, and sodden face ; he only saw in her somebody who 
could tell him something. He turned on her eagerly. 

"You say that John Maitland's son didn't die!" he 
exclaimed. 

"The boy did not die," replied Mother Gutch. 

"And that you know where he is?" asked Spargo. 

Mother Gutch shook her head. 

"I didn't say that I know where he is, young man," 
she replied. "I said I knew what she did with him." 

"What, then?" demanded Spargo. ' 

Mother Gutch drew herself up in a vast assumption 
of dignity, and favoured Spargo with a look. 

' ' That 's the secret, young man, ' ' she said. " I 'm will- 
217 



218 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

ing to sell that secret, but not for two half-sovereigns 
and two or three drops of cold gin. If Maitland left 
all that money you told Jane Baylis of, when I was 
listening to you from behind the hedge, my secret's worth 
something. ' ' 

Spargo suddenly remembered his bit of bluff to Miss 
Baylis. Here was an unexpected result of it. 

"Nobody but me can help you to trace Maitland 's 
boy," continued Mother Gutch, "and I shall expect to be 
paid accordingly. That's plain language, young man." 

Spargo considered the situation in silence for a minute 
or two. Could this wretched, bibulous old woman really 
be in possession of a secret which would lead to the 
solving of the mystery of the Middle Temple Murder? 
Well, it would be a fine thing for the Watchman if the 
clearing up of everything came through one of its men. 
And the Watchman was noted for being generous even 
to extravagance in laying out money on all sorts of ob- 
jects: it had spent money like water on much less serious 
matters than this. 

"How much do you want for your secret?" he sud- 
denly asked, turning to his companion. 

Mother Gutch began to smooth out a pleat in her 
gown. It was really wonderful to Spargo to find how 
very sober and normal this old harridan had become; 
he did not understand that her nerves had been all 
a-quiver and on edge when he first met her, and that a 
resort to her favourite form of alcohol in liberal quantity 
had calmed and quickened them; secretly he was re- 
garding her with astonishment as the most extraordinary 
old person he had ever met, and he was almost afraid 



REVELATIONS 219 

of her as he waited for her decision. At last Mother 
Gutch spoke. 

"Well, young man," she said, "having considered 
matters, and having a right to look well to myself, I think 
that what I should prefer to have would be one of those 
annuities. A nice, comfortable annuity, paid weekly 
— none of your monthlies or quarterlies, but regular 
and punctual, every Saturday morning. Or Monday 
morning, as was convenient to the parties concerned — 
but punctual and regular. I know a good many ladies 
in my sphere of life as enjoys annuities, and it's a great 
comfort to have 'em paid weekly." 

It occurred to Spargo that Mrs. Gutch would probably 
get rid of her weekly dole on the day it was paid, whether 
that day happened to be Monday or Saturday, but that, 
after all, was no concern of his, so he came back to first 
principles. 

"Even now you haven't said how much," he re- 
marked. 

"Three pound a week," replied Mother Gutch. 
"And cheap, too!" 

Spargo thought hard for two minutes. The secret 
might — might! — ^lead to something big. This wretched 
old woman would probably drink herself to death within 
a year or two. Anyhow, a few hundreds of pounds was 
nothing to the Watchman. He glanced at his watch. 
At that hour — for the next hour— the great man of the 
WaUhmmi would be at the ofiSce. He jumped to his 
feet, suddenly resolved and alert. 

"Here, I'll take you to see my principals," he said. 
"We'll run along in a taxi-cab." 



THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"With all the pleasure in the world, young man," re- 
plied Mother Gutch; "when you've given me that other 
half-sovereign. As for principals, I'd far rather talk 
business with masters than with men — though I mean no 
disrespect to you. ' ' 

Spargo, feeling that he was in for it, handed over the 
second half-sovereign, and busied himself in ordering a 
taxi-cab. But when that came round he had to wait 
while Mrs. Gutch consumed a third glass of gin and pur- 
chased a flask of the same beverage to put in her pocket. 
At last he got her off, and in due course to the Watchman 
office, where the hall-porter and the messenger boys 
stared at her in amazement, well used as they were to 
seeing strange. folk, and he got her to his own room, and 
locked her in, and then he sought the presence of the 
mighty. 

What Spargo said to his editor and to the great man 
who controlled the fortunes and workings of the Watch- 
man he never knew. It was probably fortunate for him 
that they were both thoroughly conversant with the facts 
of the Middle Temple Murder, and saw that there might 
be an advantage in securing the revelations of which 
Spargo had got the conditional promise. At any rate, 
they accompanied Spargo to his room, intent on seeing, 
hearing and bargaining with the lady he had locked up 
there. 

Spargo 's room smelt heavily of unsweetened gin, but 
Mother Gutch was soberer than ever. She insisted upon 
being introduced to proprietor and editor in due and 
proper form, and in discussing terms with them before 
going into any further particulars. The editor was all 



REVELATIONS 221 

for temporizing with her until something could be done 
to find out what likelihood of truth there was in her, but 
the proprietor, after sizing her up in his own shrewd 
fashion, took his two companions out of the room. 

"We'll hear what the old woman has to say on her own 
terms," he said. "She may have something to tell that 
is really of the greatest importance in this case : she cer- 
tainly has something to tell. And, as Spargo says, she '11 
probably drink herself to death in about as short a time 
as possible. Come back — ^let 's hear her story. ' ' So they 
returned to the gin-scented atmosphere, and a formal 
document was drawn out by which the proprietor of the 
Watchman bound himself to pay Mrs. Guteh the sum of 
three pounds a week for life (Mrs. Gutch insisting on the 
insertion of the words ' ' every Saturday morning, punc- 
tual and regular") and then Mrs. Gutch was invited to 
tell her tale. And Mrs. Gutch settled herself to do so, 
and Spargo prepared to take it down, word for word. 

"Which the story, as that young man called it, is not 
so long as a monkey's tail nor so short as a Manx cat's, 
gentlemen," said Mrs. Guteh; "bi^it full of meat as an 
egg. Now, you see, when that Maitland affair at Market 
Milcaster came off, I was housekeeper to Miss Jane Bay- 
lis at Brighton. She kept a boarding-house there, ir 
Kemp Town, and close to the sea-front, and a very good 
thing she made out of it, and had saved a nice bit, and 
having, like her sister, Mrs. Maitland, had a little fortune 
left her by her father, as was at one time a publican here 
in London, she had a good lump of money. And all 
that money was in this here Maitland 's hands, every 
penny. I very well remember the day when the news 



222 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

came about that affair of Maitland robbing the bank. 
Hiss Baylis, she was like a mad thing when she saw it in 
the paper, and before she'd seen it an hour she was off 
to Market Milcaster. I went up to the station with her, 
and she told me then before she got in the train that 
Maitland had all her fortune and her savings, and her 
sister's, his wife's, too, and that she feared all would be 
lost." 

"Mrs. Maitland was then dead," observed Spargo 
without looking up from his writing-block. 

"She was, young man, and a good thing, too," con- 
tinued Mrs. Gutch. ' ' Well, away went Miss Baylis, and 
no more did I hear or see for nearly a week, and then 
back she comes, and brings a little boy with her^— which 
was Maitland 's. And she told me that night that she'd 
lost every penny she had in the world, and that her 
sister's money, what ought to have been the child's, was 
gone, too, and she said her say about Maitland. How- 
ever, she saw well to that child ; nobody could have seen 
better. And very soon after, when Maitland was sent 
to prison for ten years, her and me talked about things. 
'What's the use,' says I to her, 'of your letting yourself 
get so fond of that child, and looking after it as you 
do, and educating it, and so on?' I says. 'Why not?' 
says she. ' 'Tisn't yours,' I says, 'you haven't no right 
to it,' I says. 'As soon as ever its father comes out/ 
says I, 'he'll come and claim it, and you can't do nothing 
to stop him.' Well, gentlemen, if you'll believe me, 
never did I see a woman look as she did when I says all 
that. And she up and swore that Maitland should never 



REVELATIONS 223 

see or touch the child again — not under no circumstances 
whatever. ' ' 

Mrs. Gutch paused to take a little refreshment from 
her pocket-flask, with an apologetic remark as to the state 
of her heart. She resumed, presently, apparently re- 
freshed. 

"Well, gentlemen, that notion, about Maitland's tak- 
ing the child away from her seemed to get on her mind, 
and she used to talk to me at times about it, always say- 
ing the same thing — ^that Maitland should never have 
him. And one day she told me she was going to London 
to see.lawyers about it, and she went, and she came back, 
seeming more satisfied, and a day or two afterwards, 
there came a gentleman who looked like a lawyer, and he 
stopped a day or two, and he came again and again, un- 
til one day she came to me, and she says, 'You don't know 
who that gentleman is that's come so much lately?' she 
says. 'Not I,' I says, 'unless he's after you.' 'After 
me!' she says, tossing her head: 'That's the gentleman 
that ought to have married my poor sister if that scoun- 
drel Maitland hadn't tricked her into throwing him 
over!' 'You don't say so!' I says. 'Then by rights he 
ought to have been the child's pa!' 'He's going to be a 
father to the boy,' she says. 'He's going to take him 
and educate him in the highest fashion, and make a gen- 
tleman of him,' she says, 'for his mother's sake.' 
'Mercy on us!' says I. 'What '11 Maitland say when he 
comes for him?' 'Maitland '11 never come for him,' 
she says, 'for I'm going to leave here, and the boy '11 be 
gone before then. This is all being done,' she says, 'so 



224 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

that the child '11 never know his father's shame — he'll 
never know who his father was. ' And true enough, the 
boy was taken away, but Maitland came before she'd 
gone, and she told him the child was dead, and I never 
see a man so cut up. However, it wasn't no concern of 
mine. And so there 's so much of the secret, gentlemen, 
and I would like to know if I ain't giving good value." 

"Very good," said the proprietor. "Go on." But 
Spargo intervened. 

"Did you ever hear the name of the gentleman who 
took the boy away?" he asked. 

"Yes, I did," repUed Mrs. Gutch. "Of course I did. 
Which it was Elphick." 



CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 

STILL SILENT 

Spargo dropped his pen on the desk before him with 
a sharp clatter that made Mrs. Gutch jump. A steady 
devotion to the bottle had made her nerves to be none 
of the strongest, and she looked at the startler of them 
with angry malevolence. 

"Don't do that again, young man!" she exclaimed 
sharply. "I can't a-bear to be jumped out of my skin, 
and it's bad manners. I observed that the gentle- 
man's name was Elphick." 

Spargo contrived to get in a glance at his proprietor 
and his editor — a glance which came near to being a 
wink. 

"Just so — Elphick," he said. "A law gentleman I 
think you said, Mrs. Gutch?" 

"I said," answered Mrs. Gutch, "as how he looked like 
a lawyer gentleman. And since you're so particular, 
young man, though I wasn't addressing you but your 
principals, he was a lawyer gentleman. One of the sort 
that wears wigs and gowns — ain't I seen his picture in 
Jane Baylis's room at the boarding-house where you saw 
her this morning?" 

"Elderly man?" asked Spargo. 

"Elderly he will be now," replied the informant; 
"but when he took the boy away he was a middle-aged 

225 



226 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

man. About Ms age," she added, pointing to the editor 
in a fashion which made that worthy man wince and the 
proprietor desire to laugh unconsumedly ; "and not so 
very unlike him neither, being one as had no hair on his 
face." 

"Ah!" said Spargo. "And where did this Mr. El- 
phick take the boy, Mrs. Gutch?" 

But Mrs. Gutch shook her head. 

"Ain't no idea," she said. "He took him. Then, as 
I told you, Maitland came, and Jane Baylis told him 
that the boy was dead. And after that she never even 
told me anything about the boy. She kept a tight 
tongue. Once or twice I asked her, and she says, 'Never 
you mind,' she says; 'he's all right for life, if he lives to 
be as old as Methusalem. ' And she never said more, and 
I never said more. But, ' ' continued Mrs. Gutch, whose 
pocket-flask was empty, and who began to wipe tears 
away, "she's treated me hard has Jane Baylis, never 
allowing me a little comfort such as a lady of my age 
should have, and when I hears the two of you a-talking 
this morning the other side of that privet hedge, thinks 
I, 'Now's the time to have my knife into you, my fine 
madam!' And I hope I done it." 

Spargo looked at the editor and the proprietor, nod- 
ding his head slightly. He meant them to understand 
that he had got all he wanted from Mother Gutch. 

"What are you going to do, Mrs. Gutch, when you 
leave here?" he asked. "You shall be driven straight 
back to Bayswater, if you like." 

"Which I shall be obliged for, young man," said Mrs. 
Gutch, "and likewise for the first week of the annuity. 



STILL SILENT 

and will call every Saturday for the same at eleven 
punctual, or can be posted to me on a Friday, whichever 
is agreeable to you gentlemen. And having my first 
week in my purse, and being driven to Bayswater, I shall 
take my boxes and go to a friend of mine where I shall 
be hearty welcome, shaking the dust of my feet off against 
Jane Baylis and where I've been living with her." 

"Yes, but, Mrs. Gutch," said Spargo, with some 
anxiety, "if you go back there tonight, you'll be very 
careful not to tell Miss Baylis that you 've been here and 
told us all this?" 

Mrs. Guteh rose, dignified and composed. 

"Young man," she said, "you mean well, *but you 
ain't used to dealing with ladies. I can keep my tongue 
as still as anybody when I like. I wouldn't tell Jane 
Baylis my affairs — my new affairs, gentlemen, thanks 
to you — not for two annuities, paid twice a week ! ' ' 

"Take Mrs. Gutch downstairs, Spargo, and see her 
all right, and then come to my room," said the editor. 
' ' And don 't you forget, Mrs. Gutch — keep a quiet tongue 
in your head — no more talk — or there'll be no annuities 
on Saturday mornings. ' ' 

So Spargo took Mother Guteh to the cashier's depart- 
ment and paid her her first week's money, and he got 
her a taxi-cab, and paid for it, and saw her depart, and 
then he went to the editor's room, strangely thoughtful. 
The editor and the proprietor were talking, but they 
stopped when Spargo entered and looked at him eagerly. 

"I think we've done it," said Spargo quietly. 

"What, precisely, have we found out?" asked the 
editor. 



228 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"A great deal more than I'd anticipated," answered 
Spargo, "and I don't inow what fields it doesn't open 
out. If you look back, you'll remember that the only 
thing found on Marbury's body was a scrap of grey 
paper on which was a name and address — Ronald Breton, 
King's Bench Walk." 

"Well?" 

"Breton is a young barrister. Also he writes a bit 
— I have accepted two or three articles of his for our 
literary page." 

"Well?" 

"Further, he is engaged to Miss Aylmore, the eldest 
daughter of Aylmore, the Member of Parliament who 
has been charged at Bow Street today with the murder 
of Marbury." 

' ' I know. Well, what then, Spargo ? ' ' 

' ' But the most important matter, ' ' continued Spargo, 
speaking very deliberately, "is this— that is, taking 
that old woman's statement to be true, as I personally 
believe it is — that Breton, as he has told me himself (I 
have seen a good deal of him) was brought up by a 
guardian. That guardian is Mr. Septimus Elphick, the 
barrister. ' ' 

The proprietor and the editor looked at each other. 
Their faces wore the expression of men thinking on the 
same lines and arriving at the same conclusion. And 
the proprietor suddenly turned on Spargo with a sharp 
interrogation: "You think then " 

Spargo nodded. 

"I think that Mr. Septimus Elphick is the Elphick, 



STILL SILENT 229 

and that Breton is the young Maitland of whom Mrs. 
Gutch has been talking,''' he answered. 

The editor got up, thrust his hands in his pockets, alid 
began to pace the room. 

"If that's so," he said, "if that's so, the mystery 
deepens. What do you propose to do, Spargo ? ' ' 

"I think," said Spargo, slowly, "I think that without 
telling him anything of what we have learnt, I should 
like to see young Breton and get an introduction from 
him to Mr. Elphick. I can make a good excuse for want- 
ing an interview with him. If you will leave it in my 
hands " 

"Yes, yes!" said the proprietor, waving a hand. 
"Leave it entirely in Spargo 's hands." 

"Keep me informed," said the editor. "Do what 
you think. It strikes me you're on the track." 

Spargo left their presence, and going back to his 
own room, still faintly redolent of the personality of 
Mrs. Gutch, got hold of the reporter who had been 
present at Bow Street when Aylmore was brought up 
that morning. There was nothing new; the authorities 
had merely asked for another remand. So far as the 
reporter knew, Aylmore had said nothing fresh to any- 
body. 

Spargo went round to the Temple and up to Ronald 
Breton's chambers. He found the young barrister just 
preparing to leave, and looking unusually grave and 
thoughtful. At sight of Spargo he turned back from 
his outer door, beckoned the journalist to follow him, 
and led him into an inner room. 



230 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I say, Spargo!" he said, as he motioned his visitor 
to take a chair. ' ' This is beco&ing something more than 
serious. You know what you told me to do yesterday 
as regards Aylmore?" 

"To get him to tell all?— Yes," said Spargo. 

Breton shook his head. 

"Stratton — his solicitor, you know — and I saw him 
this morning before the poliee>-court proceedings," he 
continued. "I told him of my talk with you; I even 
went as far as to tell him that his daughters had been to 
the Watchman office. Stratton and I both begged him 
to take your advice and tell all, everything, no matter 
at what cost to his private feelings. We pointed out to 
him the serious nature of the evidence against him ; how 
he had damaged himself by not telling the whole truth 
at once ; how he had certainly done a great deal to excite 
suspicion against himself; how, as the evidence stands 
at present, any jury could scarcely do less than convict 
him. And it was all no good, Spargo ! ' ' 

"He won't say anything?" 

"He'll say no more. He was adamant. 'I told the 
entire truth in respect to my dealings with Marbury on 
the night he met his death at the inquest,' he said, over 
and over again, ' and I shall say nothing further on any 
consideration. If the law likes to hang an innocent man 
on such evidence as that, let it!' And he persisted in 
that until we left him. Spargo, I don't know what's 
to be done." 

"And nothing happened at the police-court?" 

"Nothing — another remand. Stratton and I saw Ayl- 
more again before he was removed. He left us with a 



STILL SILENT 231 

sort of sardonic remark — 'If you all want to prove me 
innocent,' he said, 'find the guilty man.' " 

"Well, there was a tremendous lot of common sense 
in that, ' ' said Spargo. 

''Yes, of course, but how, how, how is it going to be 
done?" exclaimed Breton. "Are you any nearer — is 
Kathbury any nearer? Is there the slightest clue that 
will fasten the guilt on anybod;/ else?" 

Spargo gave no answer to these questions. He re- 
mained silent a while, apparently thinking. 

"Was Rathbury in court?" he suddenly asked. 

"He was," replied Breton. "He was there with two 
or three other men who I suppose were detectives, and 
seemed to be greatly interested in Aylmore." 

"If I don't see Rathbury tonight I'll see him in the 
morning," said Spargo. He rose as if to go, but after 
lingering a moment, sat down again. "Look here," he 
continued, "I don't know how this thing stands in law, 
but would it be a very weak case against Aylmore if the 
prosecution couldn't show some motive for his killing 
Marbury?" 

Breton smiled. 

"There's no necessity to prove motive in murder," 
he said. "But I'll tell you what, Spargo — if the prose- 
cution can show that Aylmore had a motive for getting 
rid of Marbury, if they could prove that it was to Ayl- 
more 's advantage to silence him— why, then, I don't 
think he's a chance." 

"I see. But so far no motive, no reason for his kill- 
ing Marbury has been shown." 

"I know of none." 



THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo rose and moved to the door. 

"Well, I'm off," he said. Then, as if he suddenly 
recollected something, he turned back. ' ' Oh, by the by, ' ' 
he said, "isn't your guardian, Mr. Elphick, a big au- 
thority on philately ? ' ' 

"One of the biggest. Awful enthusiast." 

"Do you think he'd tell me a bit about those Austra- 
lian stamps which Marbury showed to Criedir, the 
dealer?" 

"Certain, he would — delighted. Here" — and Breton 
scribbled a few words on a card — "there's his address 
and a word from me. I '11 tell you when you can always 
find him in, five nights out of seven — at nine o'clock, 
after hcs's dined. I'd go with you tonight, but I must 
go to Aylmore's. The two girls are in terrible trouble." 

' ' Give them a message from me, ' ' said Spargo as they 
went out together. ' ' Tell them to keep up their hearts 
and their courage." 



CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 

MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS 

Spargo went round again to the Temple that night at 
nine o'clock, asking himself over and over again two 
questions — the first, how much does Elphick know? the 
second, how much shall I tell him? 

The old house in the Temple to which he repaired 
and in which many a generation of old fogies had lived 
since the days of Queen Anne, was full of stairs and 
passages, and as Spargo had forgotten to get the exact 
numher of the set of chambers he wanted, he was obliged 
to wander about in what was a deserted building. So 
wandering, he suddenly heard steps, firm, decisive steps 
coming up a staircase which he himself had just climbed. 
He looked over the banisters down into the hollow be- 
neath. And there, marching up resolutely, was the 
figure of a tall, veiled woman, and Spargo suddenly real- 
ized, with a sharp quickening of his pulses, that for the 
second time that day he was beneath one roof with Miss 
Baylis. 

Spargo 's mind acted quickly. Knowing what he now 
knew, from his extraordinary dealings with Mother 
Gutch, he had no doubt whatever that Miss Baylis had 
come to see Mr. Elphick — come, of course, to tell Mr. 
Elphick that he, Spargo, had visited her that morning, 

233 



234 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

and that he was on the track of the Maitland secret his- 
tory. He had never thought of it before, for he had 
been busily engaged since the departure of Mother 
Gutch; but, naturally, Miss Baylis and Mr. Elphick 
would keep in communication with each other. At any 
rate, here she was, and her destination was, surely, El- 
phick 's chambers. And the question for him, Sparge, 
was — what to do? 

What Spargo did was to remain in absolute silence, 
motionless, tense, where he was on the stair, and to trust 
to the chance that the woman did not look up. But Miss 
Baylis neither looked up nor down : she reached a land- 
ing, turned along a corridor with decision, and marched 
forward. A moment later Spargo heard a sharp double 
knock on a door: a moment after that he heard a door 
heavily shut ; he knew then that Miss Baylis had sought 
and gained admittance — somewhere. 

To find out precisely where that somewhere was drew 
Spargo down to the landing which Miss Baylis had just 
left. There was no one about — he had not, in fact, seen 
a soul since he entered the building. Accordingly he 
went along the corridor into which he had seen Miss 
Baylis turn. He knew that all the doors in that house 
were double ones, and that the outer oak in each was 
solid and substantial enough to be sound proof. Yet, as 
men will under such circumstances, he walked softly; 
he said to himself, smiling at the thought, that he would 
be sure to start if somebody suddenly opened a door on 
him. But no hand opened any door, and at last he came 
to the end of the corridor and found himself confront- 



MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS 

ing a small board on which was painted in white letters 
on a black ground, Mr. Elphiek's Chambers. 

Having satisfied himself as to his exact whereabouts, 
Spargo drew back as quietly as he had come. There was 
a window half-way along the corridor from which, he 
had noticed as he came along, one could catch a glimpse 
of the Embankment and the Thames; to this he with- 
drew, and leaning on the sill looked out and considered 
matters. Should he go and — if he could gain admittance 
— beard these two conspirators? Should he wait until 
the woman came out and let her see that he was on the 
track? Should he hide again until she went, and then 
see Elphick alone ? 

In the end Spargo did none of these things immedi- 
ately. He let things slide for the moment. He lighted 
a cigarette and stared at the river and the brown sails, 
and the buildings across on the Surrey side. Ten min- 
utes went by — ^twenty minutes — nothing happened. 
Then, as half -past nine struck from all the neighbouring 
clocks, Spargo flung away a second cigarette, marched 
■straight down the corridor and knocked boldly at Mr. 
Elphiek's door. 

Greatly to Spargo 's surprise, the door was opened be- 
fore there was any necessity to knock again. And there, 
calmly confronting him, a benevolent, yet somewhat dep- 
recating expression on his spectacled and placid face, 
stood Mr. Elphick, a smoking cap on his head, a tasseled 
smoking jacket over his dress shirt, and a short pipe in 
his hand. 

Spargo was taken aback : Mr. Elphick apparently was 



THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

not. He held the door well open, and motioned the 
journalist to enter. 

"Come in, Mr. Spargo," he said. "I was expecting 
you. Walk forward into my sitting-room." 

Spargo, much astonished at this reception, passed 
through an ante-room into a handsomely furnished 
apartment full of books and pictures. In spite of the 
fact that it was still very little past midsummer there 
was a cheery fire in the grate, and on a table set near a 
roomy arm-chair was set such creature comforts as a 
spirit-case, a syphon, a tumbler, and a novel — from 
which things Spargo argued that Mr. Elphick had been 
taking his ease since his dinner. But in another arm- 
chair on the opposite side of the hearth was the forbid- 
ding figure of Miss Baylis, blacker, gloomier, more mys- 
terious than ever. She neither spoke nor moved when 
Spargo entered: she did not even look at him. And 
Spargo stood staring at her until Mr. Elphick, having 
closed his doors, touched him on the elbow, and motioned 
him courteously to a seat. 

"Yes, I was expecting you, Mr. Spargo," he said, as 
he resumed his own chair. ' ' I have been expecting you 
at any time, ever since you took up your investigation 
of the Marbury affair, in some of the earlier stages of 
which you saw me, you will remember, at the mortuary. 
But since Miss Baylis told me, twenty minutes ago, that 
you had been to her this morning I felt sure that it 
would not be more than a few hours before you would 
come to me." 

"Why, Mr. Elphick, should you suppose that I should 



MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS 237 

come to you at all?" asked Sparge, now in full posses- 
sion of his wits. 

"Because I felt sure that you would leave no stone 
unturned, no corner unexplored," replied Mr. Elphick. 
"The curiosity of the modern pressman is insatiable." 

Spargo stiffened. 

"I have no curiosity, Mr. Elphick," he said. "I am 
charged by my paper to investigate the circumstances 
of the death of the man who was found in Middle 
Temple Lane, and, if possible, to track his murderer, 
and " 

Mr. Elphick laughed slightly and waved his hand. 

"My good young gentleman!" he said. "You exag- 
gerate your own importance. I don 't approve of mod- 
ern journalism nor of its methods. In your own case 
you have got hold of some absurd notion that the man 
John Marbury was in reality one John Maitland, once 
of Market Mileaster, and you have been trying to 
frighten Miss Baylis here into " 

Spargo suddenly rose from his chair. There was a cer- 
tain temper in him which, when once roused, led him to 
straight hitting, and it was roused now. He looked the 
old barrister full in the face. 

"Mr. Elphick," he said, "you are evidently unaware 
of all that I know. So I will tell you what I will do. 
I will go back to my oflSc, and I will write down what 
I do know, and give the true and absolute proofs of 
what I know, and, if you will trouble yourself to read 
the Watchman tomorrow morning, then you, too, will 
know. ' ' 



THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Dear me— dear me!" said Mr. Elphiek, banteringly. 
"We are so used to ultra-sensational stories frota the 
Watchman that— but I am a curious and inquisitive old 
man, my good young sir, so perhaps you will tell me in 
a word what it is you do know, eh?" 

Spargo reflected for a second. Then he bent forward 
across the table and looked the old barrister straight in 
the face. 

"Yes," he said quietly. "I will tell you what I know 
beyond doubt. I know that the man murdered under 
the name of John Marbury was, without doubt, John 
Maitland, of Market Milcaster, and that Ronald Breton 
is his son, whom you took from that woman ! ' ' 

If Spargo had desired a complete revenge for the 
cavalier fashion in which Mr. Elphiek had treated it he 
could not have been afforded a more ample one than 
that offered to him by the old barrister's reception of 
this news. Mr. Elphiek 's face not only fell, but 
changed; his expression of almost sneering contempt 
was transformed to one clearly resembling abject terror; 
he dropped his pipe, fell back in his chair, recovered 
himself, gripped the chair's arms, and stared at Spargo 
as if the young man had suddenly announced to him 
that in another minute he must be led to instant execu- 
tion. And Spargo, quick to see his advantage, followed 
it up. 

"That is what I know, Mr. lilphick, and if I choose, 
all the world shall know it tomorrow morning ! " he said 
firmly. ' ' Ronald Breton is the son of the murdered man, 
and Ronald Breton is engaged to be married to the 
daughter of the man charged with the murder. Do you 



MR. ELPHICK'S CHAMBERS 239 

hear that ? It is not matter of suspicion, or of idea, or 
of conjecture, it is fact — fact!" 

Mr. Elphick slowly turned his face to Miss Baylis. 
He gasped out a few words. 

' ' You— did— not— tell— me— this ! ' ' 

Then Spargo, turning to the woman, saw that she, 
too, was white to the lips and as frightened as the man. 

"I— didn't know!" she muttered. "He didn't tell 
me. He only told me this morning what — ^what I've 
told you." 

Spargo picked up his hat. 

"Good-night, Mr. Elphick," he said. 

But before he could reach the door the old barrister 
had leapt from his chair and seized him with trembling 
hands. Spargo turned and looked at him. He knew 
then that for some reason or other he had given Mr. 
Septimus Elphick a thoroughly bad fright. 

"Well?" he growled. 

"My dear young gentleman!" implored Mr. Elphick. 
"Don't go ! I'll — I'll do anything for you if you won't 
go away to print that. I'll — I'll give you a thousand 
pounds!" 

Spargo shook him off. 

"That's enough!" he snarled. "Now, I am off! 
What, you 'd try to bribe me ? " 

Mr. Elphick wrung his hands. 

"I didn't mean that — indeed I didn't!" he almost 
wailed. "I — I don't know what I meant. Stay, young 
gentleman, stay a little, and let us — let us talk. Let me 
have a word with you — as many words as you please. 
I implore you ! ' ' 



240 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo made a fine pretence of hesitation. 

"If I stay," he said, at last, "it will only be on the 
strict condition that you answer — and answer truly- 
whatever questions I like to ask you. Otherwise " 

He made another move to the door, and again Mr. 
Elphick laid beseeching hands on him. 

"Stay!" he said. "I'll answer anything you like!" 



CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 

OF PROVED IDENTITY 

Spargo sat down again in the chair which he had just 
left, and looked at the two people upon whom his start- 
ling announcement had produced such a curious effect. 
And he recognized as he looked at them that, while they 
were both frightened, they were frightened in different 
ways. Miss Baylis had already recovered her compos- 
ure; she now sat sombre and stern as ever, returning 
Spargo 's look with something of indifferent defiance ; he 
thought he could see that in her mind a certain fear was 
battling with a certain amount of wonder that he had 
discovered the secret. It seemed to him that so far as 
she was concerned the secret had come to an end ; it was 
as if she said in so many words that now the secret was 
out he might do his worst. 

But upon Mr. Septimus Blphick the effect was very 
different. He was still trembling from excitement; he 
groaned as he sank into his chair and the hand with 
which he poured out a glass of spirits shook; the glass 
rattled against his teeth when he raised it to his lips. 
The half-contemptuous fashion of his reception of Spargo 
had now wholly disappeared ; he was a man who had re- 
ceived a shock, and a bad one. And Spargo, watching 
him keenly, said to himself : ' This man knows a great 
deal more than, a great deal beyond, the mere fact that 

241 



U2 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Marbury was Maitland, and that Ronald Breton is in 
reality Maitland 's son; he knows something which he 
never wanted anybody to know, which he firmly believed 
it impossible anybody ever could know. It was as if he 
had buried something deep, deep down in the lowest 
depths, and was as astounded as he was frightened to 
find that it had been at last flung up to the broad light 
of day. 

"I shall wait," suddenly said Spargo, "until you are 
composed, Mr. Elphick. I have no wish to distress you. 
But I see, of course, that the truths which I have told 
you are of a sort that cause you considerable — shall we 
say fear?" 

Elphick took another stiff pull at his liquor. His 
hand had grown steadier, and the colour was coming 
back to his face. 

"If you will let me explain," he said. "If you will 
hear what was done for the boy's sake — eh?" 

"That," answered Spargo, "is precisely what I wish. 
I can tell you this — I am the last man in the world to 
wish harm of any sort to Mr. Breton." 

Miss Baylis relieved her feelings with a scornful sniff. 

"He says that!" she exclaimed, addressing the ceiling. 
"He says that, knowing that he means to tell the world 
in his rag of a paper that Ronald Breton, on whom every 
care has been lavished, is the son of a scoundrel, an 
ex-convict, a " 

Elphick lifted his hand. 

"Hush— hush!" he said imploringly. "Mr. Spargo 
means well, I am sure — I am convinced. If Mr. Spargo 
will hear me " 



OF PROVED IDENTITY 243 

But before Spargo could reply, a loud insistent knock- 
ing came at the outer door. Elphiek started nervously, 
but presently he moved across the room, walking as if 
he had received a blow, and opened the door. A boy's 
voice penetrated into the sitting-room. 

"If you please, sir, is Mr. Spargo, of the Watchman, 
here? He left this address in case he was wanted." 

Spargo recognized the voice as that of one of the oflSce 
messenger boys, and jumping up, went to the door. 

"What is it, Rawlins?" he asked. 

"Will you please come back to the office, sir, at once? 
There's Mr. Rathbury there and says he must see you 
instantly. ' ' 

"All right," answered Spargo. "I'm coming just 
now." 

He motioned the lad away, and turned to Elphiek. 

' ' I shall have to go, ' ' he said. ' ' I may be kept. Now, 
Mr. Elphiek, can I come to see you tomorrow morning ? ' ' 

"Yes, yes, tomorrow morning!" replied Elphiek 
eagerly. "Tomorrow morning, certainly. At eleven — 
eleven o'clock. That will do?" 

"I shall be here at eleven," said Spargo. "Eleven 
sharp. ' ' 

He was moving away when Elphiek caught him by 
the sleeve. 

"A word — just a word!" he said. "You — you have 
not told the — the boy — Ronald — of what you know? 
You haven't?" 

"I haven't," replied Spargo. 

Elphiek tightened his grip on Spargo 's sleeve. He 
looked into his face beseechingly. 



Mi THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Promise me — promise me, Mr. Spargo, that you won't 
tell him until you have seen me in the morning ! " he im- 
plored. "I beg you to promise me this." 

Spargo hesitated, considering matters. 

"Very well — I promise," he said. 

"And you won't print it?" continued Elphiek, still 
clinging to him. "Say you won't print it tonight?" 

"I shall not print it tonight," answered Spargo. 
"That's certain." 

Elphiek released his grip on the young man's arm. 

"Come — at eleven tomorrow morning," he said, and 
drew back and closed the door. 

Spargo ran quickly to the office and hurried up to 
his own room. And there, calmly seated in an easy- 
chair, smoking a cigar, and reading an evening news- 
paper, was Rathbury, unconcerned and outwardly as im- 
perturbable as ever. He greeted Spargo with a careless 
nod and a smile. 

"Well," he said, "how's things?" 

Spargo, half-breathless, dropped into his desk-chair. 

"You didn't come here to tell me that," he said. 

Rathbury laughed. 

"No," he said, throwing the newspaper aside, "I 
didn't. I came to tell you my latest. You're at full 
liberty to stick it into your paper tonight : it may just 
as well be known." 

"Well?" said Spargo. 

Rathbury took his cigar out of his lips and yawned. 

"Aylmore's identified," he said lazily. 

Spargo sat up, sharply. 



OF PROVED IDENTITY 245 

"Identified!" 

"Identified, my son. Beyond doubt." 

"But as whom — as what?" exclaimed Spargo. 

Rathbnry laughed. 

"He's an old lag — an ex-convict. Served his time 
partly at Dartmoor. That, of course, is where he met 
Maitland or Marbury. D'ye see? Clear as noontide 
now, Spargo." 

Spargo sat drumming his fingers on the desk before 
him. His eyes were fixed on a map of London that hung 
on the opposite wall; his ears heard the throbbing of 
the printing-machines far below. But what he really 
saw was the faces of the two girls ; what he really heard 
was the voices of two girls . . . 

"Clear as noontide — as noontide," repeated Rathbury 
with great cheerfulness. 

Spargo came back to the earth of plain and brutal 
fact. 

"What's clear as noontide?" he asked sharply. 

"What? Why, the whole thing! Motive — every- 
thing, ' ' answered Rathbury. ' ' Don 't you see, Maitland 
and Aylmore (his real name is Ainsworth, by the by) 
meet at Dartmoor, probably, or, rather, certainly, just 
before Aylmore 's release. Aylmore goes abroad, makes 
money, in time comes back, starts new career, gets into 
Parliament, becomes big man. In time, Maitland, who, 
after his time, has also gone abroad, also comes back. 
The two meet. Maitland probably tries to blackmail 
Aylmore or threatens to let folk know that the flourish- 
ing Mr. Aylmore, M.P., is an ex-convict. Result — ^Ayl- 



246 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

more lures him to the Temple and quiets him. Pooh! 
— the whol? thing's clear as noontide, as I say. As — 
noontide ! ' ' 

Spargo drummed his fingers again. 

"How?" he asked quietly. "How came Aylmore to 
be identified?" 

"My work," said Rathbury proudly. "My work, my 
son. You see, I thought a lot. And especially after 
we'd found out that Marbury was Maitland." 

"You mean after I'd found out," remarked Spargo. 

Rathbury waved his cigar. 

"Well, well, it's all the same," he said. "You help 
me, and I help you, eh ? Well, as I say, I thought a con- 
siderable lot. I thought — now, where did Maitland, or 
Marbury, know or meet Aylmore twenty or twenty-two 
years ago ? Not in London, because we knew Maitland 
never was in London — at any rate, before his trial, and 
we haven't the least proof that he was in London after. 
And why won't Aylmore tell? Clearly because it must 
have been in some undesirable place. And then, all of 
a sudden, it fiashed on me in a moment of — ^what do you 
writing fellows call those moments, Spargo?" 

"Inspiration, I should think," said Spargo. "Direct 
inspiration. ' ' 

"That's it. In a moment of direct inspiration, it 
flashed on me — why, twenty years ago, Maitland was in 
Dartmoor — they must have met there ! And so, we got 
some old warders who'd been there at that time to come 
to town, and we gave 'em opportunities to see Aylmore 
and to study him. Of course, he's twenty years older, 
and he's grown a beard, but they began to recall him. 



OF PROVED IDENTITY 247 

and then one man remembered that if he was the man 
they thought he'd a certain birth-mark. And— he 
has!" 

"Does Aylmore know that he's been identified?" 
asked Spargo. 

Rathbury pitched his cigar into the fireplace and 
laughed. 

"Know!" he said scornfully. "Know? He's ad- 
mitted it. What was the use of standing out against 
proof like that. He admitted it tonight in my presence. 
Oh, he knows all right ! ' ' 

"And what did he say?" 

Rathbury laughed contemptuously. 

"Say? Oh, not much. Pretty much what he said 
about this affair — ^that when he was convicted the time 
before he was an innocent man. He's certainly a good 
hand at playing the innocent game. ' ' 

"And of what was he convicted?" 

"Oh, of course, we know all about it — now. As soon 
as we found out who he really was, we had all the par- 
ticulars turned up. Aylmore, or Ainsworth (Stephen 
Ainsworth his name really is) was a man who ran a sort 
of what they call a Mutual Benefit Society in a town 
right away up in the North — Cloudhampton — some 
thirty years ago. He was nominally secretary, but it 
was really his own affair. It was patronized by the 
working classes — Cloudhampton 's a purely artisan popu- 
lation — and they stuck a lot of their brass, as they call 
it, in it. Then suddenly it came to smash, and there was 
nothing. He — ^Ainsworth, or Aylmore — pleaded that he 
was robbed and duped by another man, but the court 



248 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

didn't believe him, and he got seven years. Plain story 
you see, Spargo, when it all comes out, eh?" 

"All stories are quite plain — ^when they come out," 
observed Spargo. "And he kept silence now, I suppose, 
because he didn't want his daughters to know about his 
past?" 

"Just so," agreed Rathbury. "And I don't know 
that I blame him. He thought, of course, that he'd go 
scot-free over this Marbury affair. But he made his mis- 
take in the initial stages, my boy — oh, yes ! ' ' 

Spargo got up from his desk and walked around his 
room for a few minutes, Rathbury meanwhile finding 
and lighting another cigar. At last Spargo came back 
and clapped a hand on the detective's shoulder. 

"Look here, Rathbury!" he said. "It's very evident 
that you're now going on the lines that Aylmore did 
murder Marbury. Eh?" 

Rathbury looked up. His face showed astonishment. 

"After evidence like that!" he exclaimed. "Why, 
of course. There's the motive, my son, the motive!" 

Spargo laughed. 

"Rathbury!" he said. "Aylmore no more murdered 
Marbury than you did ! ' ' 

The detective got up and put on his hat. 

" Oh ! " he said. ' ' Perhaps you know who did, then ? ' ' 

"I shall know in a few days," answered Spargo. 

Rathbury stared wonderingly at him. Then he sud- 
denly walked to the door. "Good-night!" he said 
gruffly. 

"Good-night, Rathbury," replied Spargo and sat 
down at his desk. 



OP PROVED IDENTITY 249 

But that night Spargo wrote nothing for the Watch- 
mcm. All he wrote was a short telegram addressed to 
Aylmore's daughters. There were only three words on 
it — Have no fear. 



CHAPTER TWENTT-NINE 

THE CLOSED DOORS 

Alone of all the London morning newspapers, the 
Watchman appeared next day destitute of sensational- 
ism in respect to the Middle Temple Murder. The other 
daily journals published more or less vivid accounts of 
the identification of Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P. for the 
Brookminster Division, as the ci-devant Stephen Ains- 
worth, ex-convict, once upon a time founder and secre- 
tary of the Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit Society, 
the headquarters of which had been at Cloudhampton, 
in Daleshire ; the fall of which had involved thousands 
of honest working folk in terrible distress if not in ab- 
solute ruin. Most of them had raked up Ainsworth's 
past to considerable journalistic purpose: it had been 
an easy matter to turn up old files, to recount the faU of 
the Hearth and Home, to tell anew the story of the pri- 
vations of the humble investors whose small hoards had 
gone in the crash ; it had been easy, too, to set out again 
the history of Ainsworth 's arrest, trial, and fate. There 
was plenty of romance in the story : it was that of a man 
who by his financial ability had built up a great indus- 
trial insurance society; had — as was alleged — converted 
the large sums entrusted to him to his own purposes ; had 

250 



THE CLOSED DOORS 251 

been detected and punished; had disappeared, after his 
punishment, so effectually that no one knew where he 
had gone; had come back, comparatively a few years 
later, under another name, a very rich man, and had 
entered Parliament and been, in a modest way, a public 
character without any of those who knew him in his 
new career suspecting that he had once worn a dress 
liberally ornamented with the broad arrow. Fine copy, 
excellent copy: some of the morning newspapers made 
a couple of columns of it. 

But the Watchman, up to then easily ahead of all its 
contemporaries in keeping the public informed of all 
the latest news in connection with the Marbury affair, 
contented itself with a brief announcement. For after 
Eathbury had left him, Spargo had sought his pro- 
prietor and his editor, and had sat long in consultation 
with them, and the result of their talk had been that 
all the Watchman thought fit to tell its readers next 
morning was contained in a curt paragraph : 

"We understand that Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., 
who is charged with the murder of John Marbury, or 
Maitland, in the Temple on June 21st last, was yester- 
day afternoon identified by certain officials as Stephen 
Ainsworth, who was sentenced to a term of penal servi- 
tude in connection with the Hearth and Home Mutual 
Benefit Society funds nearly thirty years ago." 
Coming down to Fleet Street that morning, Spargo, 
strolling jauntily along the front of the Law Courts, en- 
countered a fellow-journalist, a man on an opposition 
newspaper, who grinned at him in a fashion which in- 
dicated derision. 



262 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"Left behind a bit, that rag of yours, this morning, 
Spargo, my boy!" he remarked elegantly. "Why, 
you've missed one of the finest opportunities I ever heard 
of in connection with that Aylmore affair. A miser- 
able paragraph ! — why, I worked off a column and a half 
in ours ! What were you doing last night, old man?" 

"Sleeping," said Spargo and went by with a nod. 
"Sleeping!" 

He left the other staring at him, and crossed the road 
to Middle Temple Lane. It was just on the stroke of 
eleven as he walked up the stairs to Mr. Elphick's cham- 
bers; precisely eleven as he knocked at the outer door. 
It is seldom that outer doors are closed in the Temple 
at that hour, but Elphick's door was closed fast enough. 
The night before it had been promptly opened, but there 
was no response to Spargo 's first knock, nor to his sec- 
ond, nor to his third. And half-unconsciously he mur- 
mured aloud: "Elphick's door is closed!" 

It never occurred to Spargo to knock again: instinct 
told him that Elphick's door was closed because Elphick 
was not there; closed because Elphick was not going to 
keep the appointment. He turned and walked slowly 
back along the corridor. And just as he reached the 
head of the stairs Ronald Breton, pale and anxious, 
came running up them, and at sight of Spargo paused, 
staring questioningly at him. As if with a mutual sym- 
pathy the two young men shook hands. 

"I'm glad you didn't print more than those two or 
three lines in the Watchma/n this morning,,' ' said Breton. 
"It was — considerate. As for the other papers! — ^Ayl- 
more assured me last night, Spargo, that though he did 



THE CLOSED DOORS 253 

serve that term at Dartmoor he was innocent enough! 
He was scapegoat for another man who disappeared." 

Then, as Spargo merely nodded, he added, awkwardly : 

"And I'm obliged to you, too, old chap, for sending 
that wire to the two girls last night — it was good of you. 
They want all the comfort they can get, poor things! 
But — ^what are you doing here, Spargo 1 ' ' 

Spargo leant against the head of the stairs and folded 
his hands. 

"I came here," he said, "to keep an appointment with 
Mr. Elphick — an appointment which he made when I 
called on him, as you suggested, at nine o'clock. The 
appointment — a most important one — was for eleven 
o'clock." 

Breton glanced at his watch. 

"Come on, then," he said. "It's well past that now, 
and my guardian's a very martinet in the matter of 
punctuality. ' ' 

But Spargo did not move. Instead, he shook his head, 
regarding Breton with troubled eyes. 

"So am I," he answered. "I was trained to it. 
Your guardian isn't there, Breton." 

"Not there? If he made an appointment for eleven? 
Nonsense — I never knew him miss an appointment!" 

"I knocked three times — ^three separate times," an- 
swered Spargo. 

"You should have knocked half a dozen times — he 
may have overslept himself. He sits up late — he and 
old Cardlestone often sit up half the night, talking 
stamps or playing piquet," said Breton. "Come on — 
you '11 see ! " 



254 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo shook his head again. 

"He's not there, Breton," he said. "He's gone!" 

Breton stared at the journalist as if he had just an- 
nounced that he had seen Mr. Septimus Elphick riding 
down Fleet Street on a dromedary. He seized Spargo 's 
elbow. 

' ' Come on ! " he said. ' ' I have a key to Mr. Elphick 's 
door, so that I can go in and out as I like. I'll soon 
show you whether he's gone or not." 

Spargo followed the young barrister down the cor- 
ridor. 

"All the same," he said meditatively as Breton fitted 
a key to the latch, "he's not there, Breton. He's — 
off!" 

"Good heavens, man, I don't know what you're talk- 
ing about!" exclaimed Breton, opening the door and 
walking into the lobby. ' ' Off ! Where on earth should 
he be off to, when he's made an appointment with you 
for eleven, and — Hullo!" 

He had opened the door of the room in which Spargo 
had met Elphick and Miss Baylis the night before, and 
was walking in when he pulled himself up on the 
threshold with a sharp exclamation. 

"Good God!" he cried. "What— what's all this?" 

Spargo quietly looked over Breton's shoulder. It 
needed but one quick glance to show him that much had 
happened in that quiet room since he had quitted it the 
night before. There stood the easy-chair in which he 
had left Elphick; there, close by it, but pushed aside, 
as if by a hurried hand, was the little table with its 



THE CLOSED DOORS 255 

spirit case, its syphon, its glass, ia which stale liquid 
still stood ; there was the novel, turned face downwards ; 
there, upon the novel, was Elphick's pipe. But the rest 
of the room was in dire confusion. The drawers of a 
bureau had been pulled open and never put back ; papers 
of all descriptions, old legal-looking documents, old let- 
ters, littered the centre-table and the floor ; in one corner 
of the room a black japanned box had been opened, its 
contents strewn about, and the lid left yawning. And 
in the grate, and all over the fender there were masses 
of burned and charred paper; it was only too evident 
that the occupant of the chambers, wherever he mi^ht 
have disappeared to, had spent some time before his dis- 
appearance in destroying a considerable heap of docu- 
ments and papers, and in such haste that he had not 
troubled to put matters straight before he went. 

Breton stared at this scene for a moment in utter con- 
sternation. Then he made one step towards an inner 
door, and Spargo followed him. Together they entered 
an inner room — a sleeping apartment. There was no 
one in it, but there were evidences that Blphick had just 
as hastily packed a bag as he had destroyed his papers. 
The clothes which Spargo had seen him wearing the 
previous evening were flung here, there, everywhere; 
the gorgeous smoking-jacket was tossed unceremoniously 
in one comer, a dress-shirt, in the bosom of which valu- 
able studs still glistened, in another. One or two suit- 
cases lay about, as if they had been examined and dis- 
carded in favour of something more portable ; here, too, 
drawers, revealing stocks of linen and underclothing, 



256 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

had been torn open and left open ; open, too, swung the 
door of a wardrobe, revealing a quantity of expensive 
clothing. And Spargo, looking around him, seemed to 
see all that had happened — ^the hasty, almost frantic 
search for and tearing up and burning of papers; the 
hurried change of clothing, of packing necessaries into 
a bag that could be carried, and then the flight the get- 
ting away, the 

"What on earth does all this mean?" exclaimed 
Breton. ' ' What is it, Spargo ? ' ' 

"I mean exactly what I told you," answered Spargo. 
"F-^'s off! Off!" 

"Off! But why off? What— my guardian!— as 
quiet an old gentleman as there is in the Temple — off!" 
cried Breton. "For what reason, eh? It isn't — good 
God, Spargo, it isn't because of anything you said to 
him last night!" 

"I should say it is precisely because of something that 
I said to him last night," replied Spargo. "I was a fool 
ever to let him out of my sight." 

Breton turned on his companion and gasped. 

"Out — of — ^your — sight!" he exclaimed. "Why — 
why — you don't mean to say that Mr. Blphick has any- 
thing to do with this Marbury affair? For God's sake, 
Spargo—^ — " 

Spargo laid a hand on the young barrister's shoulder. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to hear a good deal, Breton," 
he said. ' ' I was going to talk to you today in any case. 
You see " 

Before Spargo could say more a woman, bearing the 
implements which denote the charwoman's profession. 



THE CLOSED DOORS 257 

entered the room and immediately cried out at what she 
saw. Breton turned on her almost savagely. 

"Here, you!" he said. "Have you seen anything of 
Mr. Elphiek this morning?" 

The charwoman rolled her eyes and lifted her hands. 

"Me, sir! Not a sign of him, sir. Which I never 
comes here much before half-past eleven, sir, Mr. El- 
phiek being then gone out to his breakfast. I see him 
yesterday morning, sir, which he was then in his usual 
state of good health, sir, if anything 's the matter with 
him now. No, sir, I ain 't seen nothing of him. ' ' 

Breton let out another exclamation of impatience. 

"You'd better leave all this," he said. "Mr. El- 
phiek 's evidently gone away in a hurry, and you mustn 't 
touch anything here until he comes back. I'm going 
to lock up the chambers : if you 've a key of them give it 
to me." 

The charwoman handed over a key, gave another 
astonished look at the rooms, and vanished, muttering, 
and Breton turned to Spargo. 

"What do you say?" he demanded. "I must hear — 
a good deal! Out with it, then, man, for Heaven's 
sake." 

But Spargo shook his head. 

"Not now, Breton," he answered. "Presently, I tell 
you, for Miss Aylmore's sake, and your own, the first 
thing to do is to get on your guardian's track. We must 
—must, I say! — and at once." 

Breton stood staring at Spargo for a moment as if he 
could not credit his own senses. Then he suddenly mo- 
tioned Spargo out of the room. 



258 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

' ' Come on ! " he said. ' ' I know who '11 know where he 
is, if anybody does. ' ' 

' ' Who, then ? ' ' asked Spargo, as they hurried out. 

" Cardlestone, " answered Breton, grimly. "Cardie- 
stone ! ' ' 



CHAPTER THIRTY 

REVELATION 

There was as much bright sunshine that morning in 
Middle Temple Lane as ever manages to get into it, and 
some of it was shining in the entry into which Spargo 
and Breton presently hurried. Full of haste as he was 
Breton paused at the foot of the stair. He looked down 
at the floor and at the wall at its side. 

""Wasn't it there?" he said in a low voice, pointing 
at the place he looked at. "Wasn't it there, Spargo, 
just there, that Marbury, or, rather, Maitland, was 
found?" 

"It was just there," answered Spargo. 

"You saw him?" 

"I saw him." 

"Soon— afterwards?" 

"Immediately after he was found. You know all 
that, Breton. "Why do you ask now?" 

Breton, who was still staring at the place on which he 
had fixed his eyes on walking into the entry, shook his 
head. 

"Don't know," he answered. "I — but come on — 
let's see if old Cardlestone can tell us anything." 

There was another charwoman, armed with pails and 
buckets, outside Cardlestone 's door, into which she was 
just fitting a key. It was evident to Spargo that she 

259 



260 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

knew Breton, for she smiled at him as she opened the 
door. 

"I don't think Mr. Cardlestone '11 be in, sir," she 
said. " He 's generally gone out to breakfast at this time 
— him and Mr. Elphick goes together." 

"Just see," said Breton. "I want to see him if he 
is in." The charwoman entered the chambers and im- 
mediately screamed. 

"Quite so," remarked Spargo. "That's what I ex- 
pected to hear. Cardlestone, you see, Breton, is also — 
off!" 

Breton made no reply. He rushed after the char- 
woman, with Spargo in close attendance. 

"Good God — another!" groaned Breton. 

If the confusion in Elphick 's rooms had been bad, 
that in Cardlestone 's chambers was worse. Here again 
aU the features of the previous scene were repeated — 
drawers had been torn open, papers thrown about; the 
hearth was choked with light ashes; everything was at 
sixes and sevens. An open door leading into an inner 
room showed that Cardlestone, like Elphick, had hastily 
packed a bag ; like Elphick had changed his clothes, and 
had thrown his discarded garments anywhere, into any 
corner. Spargo began to realize what had taken place 
— Elphick, having made his own preparations for flight, 
had come to Cardlestone, and had expedited him, and 
they had fled together. But — ^why? 

The charwoman sat down in the nearest chair and be- 
gan to moan and sob ; Breton strode forward, across the 
heaps of papers and miscellaneous objects tossed aside 
in that hurried search and clearing up, into the inner 



REVELATION 261 

room, And Spargo, looking about him, suddenly caught 
sight of something lying on the floor at which he made a 
sharp clutch. He had just secured it and hurried it into 
his pocket when Breton came back. 

"I don't know what all this means, Spargo," he said, 
almost wearily. "I suppose you do. Look here," he 
went on, turning to the charwoman, "stop that row — 
that'll do no good, you know. I suppose Mr. Cardie- 
stone's gone away in a hurry. You'd better — what had 
she better do, Spargo?" 

"Leave things exactly as they are, lock up the cham- 
bers, and as you're a friend of Mr. Cardlestone's give 
you the key," answered Spargo, with a significant glance. 
"Do that, now, and let's go — I've something to do." 

Once outside, with the startled charwoman gone away, 
Spargo turned to Breton. 

"I'll tell you all I know, presently, Breton," he said. 
"In the meantime, I want to find out if the lodge porter 
saw Mr. Elphick or Mr. Cardlestone leave. I must know 
where they've gone — if I can only find out. I don't 
suppose they went on foot." 

"All right," responded Breton, gloomily. "We'll go 
and ask. But this is all beyond me. You don't mean 
to say " 

"Wait a while," answered Spargo. "One thing at 
once," he continued, as they walked up Middle Temple 
Lane. "This is the first thing. You ask the porter if 
he's seen anything of either of them — he knows you." 

The porter, duly interrogated, responded with alacrity. 

"Anything of Mr. Elphick this morning, Mr. Breton?" 
he answered. "Certainly, sir. I got a taxi for Mr. 



262 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Elphick and Mr. Cardlestone early this morning — soon 
after seven. Mr. Elphiek said they were going to Paris, 
and they'd breakfast at Charing Cross before the train 
left." 

"Say when they'd be back?" asked Breton, with an 
assumption of entire carelessness. 

"No, sir, Mr. Elphick didn't," answered the porter. 
"But I should say they wouldn't be long because they'd 
only got small suit-cases with them — such as they'd put 
a day or two's things in, sir." 

"All right," said Breton. He turned away towards 
Spargo who had already moved off. "What next?" he 
asked. "Charing Cross, I suppose?" 

Spargo smiled and shook his head. 

"No," he answered. "I've no use for Charing Cross. 
They haven't gone to Paris. That was all a blind. For 
the present let's go back to your chambers. Then I'll 
talk to you." 

Once within Breton's inner room, with the door closed 
upon them, Spargo dropped into an easy-chair and 
looked at the young barrister with earnest attention. 

"Breton !" he said. "I believe we're coming in sight 
of land. You want to save your prospective father-in- 
law, don't you?" 

"Of course!" growled Breton. "That goes without 
saying. But " 

"But you may have to make some sacrifices in order 
to do it," said Spargo. "You see " 

' ' Sacrifices ! ' ' exclaimed Breton. ' ' What ' ' 

"You may have to sacrifice some ideas— you may find 



REVELATION 263 

that you'll not be able to think as well of some people 
in the future as you have thought of them in the past. 
For instance — Mr. Elphick." 

Breton's face grew dark. 

"Speak plainly, Spargo!" he said. "It's best with 
me." 

"Very well," replied Spargo. "Mr. Elphick, then, 
is in some way connected with this affair." 

"You mean the — murder?" 

"I mean the murder. So is Cardlestone. Of that I 'm 
now dead certain. And that's why they're off. I 
startled Elphick last night. It's evident that he im- 
mediately communicated with Cardlestone, and that 
they made a rapid exit. Why?" 

"Why? That's what I'm asking you! Why? 
Why? Why?" 

"Because they're afraid of something coming out. 
And being afraid, their first instinct is to — run. 
They've run at the first alarm. Foolish— but instinc- 
tive." 

Breton, who had flung himself into the elbow-chair at 
his desk, jumped to his feet and thumped his blotting- 
pad. 

"Spargo!" he exclaimed. "Are you telling me that 
you accuse my guardian and his friend, Mr. Cardlestone, 
of being — murderers ? ' ' 

"Nothing of the sort. I am accusing Mr. Elphick and 
Mr. Cardlestone of knowing more about the murder than 
they care to tell or want to tell. I am also accusing them, 
and especially your guardian, of knowing all about 



264. THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Maitland, alias Marbury. I made him confess last night 
that he knew this dead man to be John Maitland." 

"You did!" 

"I did. And now, Breton, since it's got to come out, 
we'll have the truth. Pull yourself together — get your 
nerves ready, for you'll have to stand a shock or two. 
But I know what I'm talking about — I can prove every 
word I'm going to say to you. And first let me ask 
you a few questions. Do you know anything about your 
parentage?" 

"Nothing — ^beyond what Mr. Elphick has told me." 

"And what was that?" 

"That my parents were old friends of his, who died 
young, leaving me unprovided for, and that he took me 
up and looked after me." 

"And he's never given you any documentary evidence 
of any s6rt to prove the truth of that story?" 

"Never! I never questioned his statement. Why 
should I?" 

"You never remember anything of your childhood — 
I mean of any person who was particularly near you in 
your childhood?" 

"I remember the people who brought me up from the 
time I was three years old. And I have just a faint, 
shadowy recollection of some woman, a tall, dark woman, 
I think, before that." 

"Miss Bay lis," said Spargo to himself. "All right, 
Breton," he went on aloud. "I'm going to tell you the 
truth. I'll tell it to you straight out and give you all 
the explanations afterwards. Your real name is not 
Breton at all. Your real name is Maitland, and you're 



REVELATION 265 

the only child of the man who was found murdered at the 
foot of Cardlestone 's staircase!" 

Spargo had been wondering how Breton would take 
this, and he gazed at him with some anxiety as he got 
out the last words. What would he do? — what would 
he say? — what 

Breton sat down quietly at his desk and looked Spargo 
hard between the eyes. 

"Prove that to me, Spargo," he said, in hard, mat- 
ter-of-fact tones. "Prove it to me, every word. Every 
word, Spargo ! ' ' 

Spargo nodded. 

"I will — every word," he answered. "It's the right 
thing. Listen, then." 

It was a quarter to twelve, Spargo noticed, throwing a 
glance at the clock outside, as he began his story ; it was 
past one when he brought it to an end. And all that 
time Breton listened with the keenest attention, only 
asking a (juestion now and then; now and then making 
a brief note on a sheet of paper which he had drawn to 
him. 

"That's all," said Spargo at last. 

"It's plenty," observed Breton laconically. 

He sat staring at his notes for a moment; then he 
looked up at Spargo. "What do you really think?" he 
asked. 
' "About— what?" said Spargo. 

"This flight of Blphick's and Cardlestone 's." 

"I think, as I said, that they knew something which 
they think may be forced upon them. I never saw a 
man in a greater fright than that 1 saw Elphick in last 



266 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

night. And it's evident that Cardlestone shares in that 
fright, or they wouldn't have gone off in this way to- 
gether. ' ' 

"Do you think they know anything of the actual 
murder?" 

Spargo shook his head. 

"I don't know. Probably. They know something. 
And — look here!" 

Spargo put his hand in his breast pocket and drew 
something out which he handed to Breton, who gazed 
at it curiously. 

"What 's this ? " he demanded. ' ' Stamps ? ' ' 

"That, from the description of Criedir, the stamp- 
dealer, is a sheet of those rare Australisin stamps which 
Maitland had on him — carried on him. I picked it up 
just now in Cardlestone 's room, when you were looking 
into his bedroom." 

"But that, after all, proves nothing. Those mayn't 
be the identical stamps. And whether they are or not 



"What are the probabilities?" interrupted Spargo 
sharply. "I believe that those are the stamps which 
Maitland — your father! — had on him, and I want to 
know how they came to be in Cardlestone 's rooms. And 
I will know." 

Breton handed the stamps back. 

"But the general thing, Spargo?" he said. "If they 
didn't murder — I can't realize the thing yet! — my 
father " 

"If they didn't murder your father, they know who 
did!" exclaimed Spargo. "Now, then, it's time for 



REVELATION 267 

more action. Let Elphick and Cardlestone alone for 
the moment — they'll be tracked easily enough. I want 
to tackle something else for the moment. How do you 
get an authority from the Government to open a grave ? ' ' 

"Order from the Home Secretary, which will have to 
be obtained by showing the very strongest reasons why 
it should be made." 

"Good! We'll give the reasons. I want to have a 
grave opened. ' ' 

"A grave opened! Whose grave?" 

"The grave of the man Chamberlayne at Market Mil- 
caster," replied Spargo. 

Breton started. 

"His? In Heaven's name, why?" he demanded. 

Spargo laughed as he got up. 

"Because I believe it's empty," he answered. "Be- 
cause I believe that Chamberlayne is alive, and that his 
other name is — Cardlestone ! ' ' 



CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 

THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 

That afternoon Spargo had another of his momentous 
interviews with his proprietor and his editor. The first 
result was that all three drove to the offices of the legal 
gentleman who catered for the Watchman when it wanted 
any law, and that things were put in shape for an imr 
mediate application to the Home Office for permission 
to open the Chamberlayne grave at Market Milcaster; 
the second was that on the following morning there ap- 
peared in the Watchman a notice which set half the 
mouths of London a-watering. That notice, penned by 
Spargo, ran as follows : — 

"One Thousand Pounds Reward. 
"Whereas, on some date within the past twelve 
months, there was stolen, abstracted, or taken from the 
chambers in Fountain Court, Temple, occupied by 
Mr. Stephen Aylmore, M.P., under the name of Mr. 
Anderson, a walking-stick, or stout staff, of foreign 
make, and of curious workmanship, which stick was 
probably used in the murder of John Marbury, or 
Maitland, in Middle Temple Lane, on the night of 
June 21-22 last, and is now in the hands of the po- 
lice: 

"This is to give notice that the Proprietor of the 
Watchman newspaper will pay the above-mentioned 
reward (One Thousand Pounds Sterling) at once 
and in cash to whosoever wiU prove that he or she 
288 



THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 269 

stole, abstracted, or took away the said stick from the 
said chambers, and will further give full information 
as to his or her disposal of the same, and the Proprietor 
of the Watchman moreover engages to treat any reve- 
lation afifeeting the said stick in the most strictly 
private and confidential manner, and to abstain from 
using it in any way detrimental to the informant, who 
should call at the Watchman office, and ask for Mr. 
Frank Spargo at any time between eleven and one 
o'clock midday, and seven and eleven o'clock in the 
evening. ' ' 

"And you really expect to get some information 
through that?" asked Breton, who came into Spargo 's 
room about noon on the day on which the promising an- 
nouncement came out. "You really do?" 

"Before today is out," said Spargo confidently. 
' ' There is more magic in a thousand-pound reward than 
you fancy, Breton. I'll have the history of that stick 
before midnight." 

"How are you to tell that you won't be imposed 
upon?" suggested Breton. "Anybody can say that he 
or she stole the stick." 

' ' Whoever comes here with any tale of a stick will have 
to prove to me how he or she got the stick and what was 
done with the stick, ' ' said Spargo. ' ' I haven 't the least 
doubt that that stick was stolen or taken away from 
Aylmore's rooms in Fountain Court, and that it got into 
the hands of " 

"Yes, of whom?" 

"That's what I want to know in some fashion. I've 



270 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

an idea, already. But I can afford to wait for definite 
information. I know one thing — when I get that in- 
formation — as I shall — we shall be a long way on the 
road towards establishing Aylmore's innocence." 

Breton made no remarlj upon this. He was looking at 
Spargo with a meditative expression. 

"Spargo," he said, suddenly, "do you think you'll 
get that order for the opening of the grave at Market 
Milcaster?" 

"I was talking to the solicitors over the 'phone just 
now," answered Spargo. "They've every confidence 
about it. In fact, it's possible it may be made this af- 
ternoon. In that case, the opening will be made early 
tomorrow morning." 

"Shall you go?" asked Breton. 

"Certainly. And you can go with me, if you like. 
Better keep in touch with us all day in case we hear. 
You ought to be there — you 're concerned. ' ' 

"I should like to go — I will go," said Breton. "And 
if that grave proves to be — empty — I'll — I'll tell you 
something. " ^ j 

Spargo looked up with sharp instinct. ? 

"You'll tell me something? Something? What?" 

"Never mind — wait until we see if that coflBn con- 
tains a dead body or lead and sawdust. If there's no 
body there " 

At that moment one of the senior messenger boys came 
in and approached Spargo. His coimtenance, usually 
subdued to an official stolidity, showed signs of some- 
thing very like excitement. 

"There's a man downstairs asking for you, Mr. 



THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 271 

Spargo," he said. "He's been hanging about a bit, 
sir, — seems very shy about coming up. He won't say 
what he wants, and he won't fill up a form, sir. Says 
all he wants is a word or two with you. ' ' 

"Bring him up at once!" commanded Spargo. He 
turned to Breton when the boy had gone. "There!" 
he said, laughing. "This is the man about the stick — 
you see if it isn't." 

"You're such a cock-sure chap, Spargo," said Breton. 
"You're always going on a straight line." 

"Trying to, you mean," retorted Spargo. "Well, 
stop here, and hear what this chap has to say: it'll no 
doubt be amusing." 

The messenger boy, deeply conscious that he was usher- 
ing into Spargo 's room an individual who might shortly 
carry away a thousand pounds of good Watchman money 
in his pocket, opened the door and introduced a shy and 
self-conscious young man, whose nervousness was pain- 
fully apparent to everybody and deeply felt by himself. 
He halted on the threshold, looking round the comfort- 
ably-furnished room, and at the two well-dressed young 
men which it framed as if he feared to enter on a scene 
of such grandeur. 

"Come in, come in!" said Spargo, rising and pointing 
to an easy -chair at the side of his desk. "Take a seat. 
You've called about that reward, of course." 

The man in the chair eyed the two of them cautiously, 
and not without suspicion. He cleared his throat with 
a palpable effort. 

"Of course," he said. "It's all on the strict private. 
Name of Edward Mollison, sir." 



272 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"And where do you live, and what do you do?" asked 
Spargo. 

"You might put it down Rowton House, White- 
chapel," answered Edward MoUison. "Leastways, 
that's where I generally hang out when I can afford it. 
And — window-cleaner. Leastways, I was window clean- 
ing when — when " 

"When you came in contact with the stick we've been 
advertising about," suggested Spargo. "Just so. 
Well, MoUison— what about the stick?" 

MoUison looked round at the door, and then at the 
windows, and then at Breton. 

"There ain't no danger of me being got into trouble 
along of that stick?" he asked. " 'Cause if there is, 
I ain't a-going to say a word — ^no, not for no thousand 
pounds! Me never having been in no trouble of any 
sort, guv 'nor — though a poor man." 

"Not the slightest danger in the world, MoUison," re- 
plied Spargo. "Not the least. All you've got to do is 
to tell the truth — and prove that it is the truth. So 
it was you who took that queer-looking stick out of Mr. 
Aylmore's rooms in Fountain Court, was it?" 

MoUison appeared to find this direct question sooth- 
ing to his feelings. He smiled weakly. 

"It was eert'nly me as took it, sir," he said. "Not 
that I meant to pinch it — ^not me ! And, as you might 
say, I didn't take it, when all's said and done. It was 
— put on me." 

"Put on you, was it?" said Spargo. "That's inter- 
esting. And how was it put on you?" 

MoUison grinned again and rubbed his chin. 



THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 273 

"It was this here way," he answered. "You see, I 
was working at that time — near on to nine months since, 
it is — ^for the Universal Daylight Window Cleaning Com- 
pany, and I used to clean a many windows here and 
there in the Temple, and them windows at Mr. Ayl- 
more's — only I knew them as Mr. Anderson's — among 
'em. And I was there one morning, early it was, when 
the charwoman she says to me, 'I wish you'd take these 
two or three hearthrugs, ' she says, ' and give 'em a good 
beating,' she says. And me being always a ready one 
to oblige, 'All right!' I says, and takes 'em. 'Here's 
something to wallop 'em with,' she says, and pulls that 
there old stick out of a lot that was in a stand in a corner 
of the lobby. And that 's how I came to handle it, sir. ' ' 

"I see," said Spargo. "A good explanation. And 
when you had beaten the hearthrugs — what then 1 ' ' 

MoUison smiled his weak smile again. 

"Well, sir, I looked at that there stick and I see it 
was something uncommon," he answered. "And I 
thinks — 'Well, this Mr. Anderson, he's got a bundle of 
sticks and walking canes up there — he'll never miss this 
old thing,' I thinks. And so I left it in a corner when 
I'd done beating the rugs, and when I went away with 
my things I took it with me. ' ' 

"You took it with you?" said Spargo. "Just so. 
To keep as a curiosity, I suppose?" 

MoUison 's weak smile turned to one of cunning. He 
was obviously losing his*nervousness ; the sound of his 
own voice and the reception of his news was imparting 
confidence to him. 

"Not half!" he answered. "You see, guv 'nor, there 



274 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

was an old cove as I knew in the Temple there as is, or 
was, 'cause I ain't been there since, a collector of an- 
tikities, like, and I'd sold him a queer old thing, time 
and again. And, of course, I had him in my eye when 
I took the stick away — see?" ,., 

"I see. And you took the stick to him?" 

"I took it there and then," replied Mollison. 
"Pitched him a tale, I did, about it having been brought 
from foreign parts by Uncle Simon — ^which I never had 
no Uncle Simon. Made out it was a rare curiosity — 
which it might ha' been one, for all I know." 

' ' Exactly. And the old cove took a fancy to it, eh ? " 

"Bought it there and then," answered Mollison, with 
something very like a wink. 

"Ah! Bought it there and then. And how much did 
he give you for it?" asked Spargo. "Something hand- 
some, I hope?" 

"Couple o' quid," replied Mollison. "Me not wish- 
ing to part with a family heirloom for less. ' ' 

"Just so. And do you happen to be able to tell me 
the old cove's name and his address, Mollison?" asked 
Spargo. 

"I do, sir. Which they've painted on his entry — the 
fifth or sixth as you go down Middle Temple Lane," an- 
swered Mollison. "Mr. Nicholas Cardlestone, first floor 
up the staircase." 

Spargo rose from his seat without as much as a look 
at Breton. 

"Come this way, Mollison," he said. "We'll go and 
see about your little reward. Excuse me, Breton." 



THE PENITENT WINDOW-CLEANER 275 

Breton kicked his heels in solitude for half an hour. 
Then Spargo came back. 

"There — that's one matter settled, Breton," he said. 
"Now for the next. The Home Secretary's made the 
order for the opening of the grave at Market Milcaster. 
I 'm going down there at once, and I suppose you 're com- 
ing. And remember, if that grave's empty " 

"If that grave's empty," said Breton, "I'll tell you 
— a good deal." 



CHAPTEE THIRTY-TWO 

THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN 

There travelled down together to Market Milcaster 
late that afternoon, Spargo, Breton, the officials from 
the Home Office, entrusted with the order for the open- 
ing of the Chamberlayne grave, and a solicitor acting 
on behalf of the proprietor of the Watchman. It was 
late in the evening when they reached the little town, but 
Spargo, having looked in at the parlour of the "Yellow 
Dragon ' ' and ascertained that Mr. Quarterpage had only 
just gone home, took Breton across the street to the old 
gentleman's house. Mr. Quarterpage himself came to 
the door, and recognized Spargo immediately. Nothing 
would satisfy him but that the two should go in; his 
famQy, he said, had just retired, but he himself was 
going to take a final nightcap and a cigar, and they must 
share it. 

"For a few minutes only then, Mr. Quarterpage," 
said Spargo as they followed the old man into his dining- 
room. "We have to be up at daybreak. And — pos- 
sibly — you, too, would like to be up just as early." 

Mr. Quarterpage looked an enquiry over the top of a 
decanter which he was handling. 

"At daybreak?" he exclaimed. 

"The fact is," said Spargo, "that grave of Cham- 
berlayne 's is going to be opened at daybreak. We have 

276 



THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN 277 

managed to get an order from the Plome Secretary for 
the exhumation of Chamberlayne 's body: the officials 
in charge of it have come down in the same train with 
us; we're all staying across there at the 'Dragon.' The 
officials have gone to make the proper arrangements with 
your authorities. It will be at daybreak, or as near it as 
can conveniently be managed. And I suppose, now that 
you know of it, you'll be there?" 

"God bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Quarterpage. 
"You've really done that! Well, well, so we shall know 
the truth at last, after all these years. You're a very 
wonderful young man, Mr. Spargo, upon my word. 
And this other young gentleman?" 

Spargo looked at Breton, who had already given him 
permission to speak. "Mr. Quarterpage," he said, 
"this young gentleman is, without doubt, John Mait- 
land's son. He's the young barrister, Mr. Ronald 
Breton, that I told you of, but there's no doubt about 
his parentage. And I'm sure you'll shake hands with 
him and wish him well." 

Mr. Quarterpage set down decanter and glass and 
hastened to give Breton his hand. 

"My dear young sir!" he exclaimed. "That I will 
indeed ! And as to wishing you well — ah, I never wished 
anything but well to your poor father. He was led 
away, sir, led away by Chamberlayne. God bless me, 
what a night of surprises! Why, Mr. Spargo, suppos- 
ing that coffin is found empty— what then?" 

"Then," answered Spargo, "then I think we shall be 
able to put our hands on the man who is supposed to be 
in it." 



278 thp: middle temple murder 

"You think my father was worked upon by this man 
Chamberlayne, sir?" observed Breton a few minutes 
later when they had all sat down round Mr. Quarter- 
page's hospitable hearth. "You think he was unduly 
influenced by him?" 

Mr. Quarterpage shook his head sadly. 

"Chamberlayne, my dear young sir," he answered. 
"Chamberlayne was a plausible and a clever fellow. 
Nobody knew anything about him until he came to this 
town, and yet before he had been here very long he bad 
contrived to ingratiate himself with everybody — of 
course, to his own advantage. I firmly believe that he 
twisted your father round his little finger. As I told 
Mr. Spargo there when he was making his enquiries of 
me a short while back, it would never have been any sur- 
prise to me to hear — definitely, I mean, young gentlemen 
— that all this money that was in question went into 
Chamberlayne 's pockets. Dear me — dear me! — and you 
really believe that Chamberlayne is actually alive, Mr. 
Spargo?" 

Spargo pulled out his watch. "We shall all know 
whether he was buried in that grave before another six 
hours are over, Mr. Quarterpage," he said. 

He might well have spoken of four hours instead of 
six, for it was then nearly midnight, and before three 
o'clock Spargo and Breton, with the other men who had 
accompanied them from London were out of the "Yel- 
low Dragon ' ' and on their way to the cemetery just out- 
side the little town. Over the hills to the eastward the 
grey dawn was slowly breaking: the long stretch of 



THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN 279 

marshland which lies between Market iVIilcaster and the 
sea was white with fog: on the cypresses and acacias of 
the cemetery hung veils and webs of gossamer: every- 
thing around them was quiet as the dead folk who lay 
beneath their feet. And the people actively concerned 
went quietly to work, and those who could do nothing 
but watch stood around in silence. 

"in all my long life of over ninety years," whispered 
old Quarterpage, who had met them at the cemetery 
gates, looking fresh and brisk in spite of his shortened 
rest, "I have never seen this done before. It seems a 
strange, strange thing to interfere with a dead man's 
last resting-i)laee — a dreadful thing." 

"If there is a dead man there," said Spargo. 

He himself was mainly curious about the details of 
this exhumation ; he had no scruples, sentimental or 
otherwise, about the breaking in upon the dead. He 
watched all that was done. The men employed by the 
local authorities, instructed over-night, had fenced in 
the grave with canvas ; the proceedings were accordingly 
conducted in strict privacy; a man was posted to keep 
away any very early passersby, who might be attracted 
by the unusual proceedings. At first there was nothing 
to do but w^ait, and Spargo occupied himself by reflect- 
ing that every spadeful of earth thrown out of that 
grave was bringing him nearer to the truth ; he had an 
unconquerable intuition that the truth of at any rate one 
phase of the Marbury case was going to be revealed to 
them. If the coffin to which they were digging down 
contained a body, and that the body of the stockbroker. 



280 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Chamberlayiie, then a good deal of his, Sparge 's, latest 
theory, would be dissolved to nothingness. But if that 
cofiSn contained no body at all, then " 

"They're down to it!" whispered Breton. 

Presently they all went and looked down into the 
grave. The workmen had uncovered the coflSn prepara- 
tory to lifting it to the surface ; one of them was brush- 
ing the earth away from the name-plate. And in the 
now strong light they could all read the lettering on it. 

James Caktweight Chamberlayne 
Born 1852 
Died 1891 

Spargo turned away as the men began to lift the coffin 
out of the grave. 

"We shall know now!" he whispered to Breton. 
"And yet — what is it we shall know if " 

"If what?" said Breton. "If— what?" 

But Spargo shook his head. This was one of the great 
moments he had lately been working for, and the issues 
were tremendous. 

"Now for it!" said the Watchman's solicitor in an 
undertone. "Come, Mr. Spargo, now we shall see." 

They all gathered round the coflSn, set on low trestles 
at the graveside, as the workmen silently went to work 
on the screws. The sferews were rusted in their sockets ; 
they grated as the men slowly worked them out. It 
seemed to Spargo that each man grew slower and slower 
in his movements; he felt that he himself was getting 
fidgety. Then he heard a voice of authority. 



THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN 281 

"Lift the lid oflE!" 

A man at the head of the coffin, a man at the foot sud- 
denly and swiftly raised the lid : the men gathered round 
craned their necks with a quick movement. 

Sawdust ! 

The coffin was packed to the brim with sawdust, tightly 
pressed down. The surface lay smooth, undisturbed, 
levelled as some hand had levelled it long years before. 
They were not in the presence of death, but of deceit. 

Somebody laughed faintly. The sound of the laugh- 
ter broke the spell. The chief official present looked 
round him with a smile. 

" It is evident that there were good grounds for suspi- 
cion," he remarked. "Here is no dead body, gentlemen. 
See if anything lies beneath the sawdust," he added, 
turning to the workmen. "Turn it out!" 

The workmen began to scoop out the sawdust with 
their hands; one of them, evidently desirous of making 
sure that no body was in the coffin, thrust down his 
fingers at various places along its length. He, too, 
laughed. 

"The coffin's weighted with lead!" he remarked. 
"See!" 

And tearing the sawdust aside, he showed those around 
him that at three intervals bars of lead had been tightly 
wedged into the coffin where the head, the middle, and 
the feet of a corpse would have rested. 

"Done it cleverly," he remarked, looking round. 
"You see how these weights have been adjusted. When 
a body's laid out in a coffin, you know, all the weight's 
in the end where the head and trunk rest. Here you see 



282 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

the heaviest bar of lead is in the middle ; the lightest at 
the feet. Clever!" 

"Clear out all the sawdust," said some one. "Let's 
see if there's anything else." 

There was something else. At the bottom of the cof- 
fin two bundles of papers, tied up with pink tape. The 
legal gentlemen present immediately manifested great 
interest in these. So did Spargo, who, pulling Breton 
along with him, forced his way to where the officials from 
the Home Office and the solicitor sent by the Watchman 
were hastily examining their discoveries. 

The first bundle of papers opened evidently related 
to transactions at Market Milcaster: Spargo caught 
glimpses of names that were familiar to him, Mr. Quar- 
terpage's amongst them. He was not at all astonished 
to see these things. But he was something more than 
astonished when, on the second parcel being opened, a 
quantity of papers relating to Cloudhampton and the 
Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit Society were revealed. 
He gave a hasty glance at these and drew Breton aside. 

"It strikes me we've found a good deal more than 
we ever bargained for!" he exclaimed. "Didn't Ayl- 
more say that the real culprit at Cloudhampton was an- 
other man — his clerk or something of that sort?" 

"He did," agreed Breton. "lie insists on it." 

"Then this fellow Chamberlayne must have been the 
man," said Spargo. "He came to Market Milcaster 
from the north. What '11 be done with those papers?" 
he asked, turning to the ofiicials. 

"We are going to seal them up at once, and take them 



THE CONTENTS OF THE COFFIN 283 

to London," replied the principal person in authority. 
"They will be quite safe, Mr. Spargo; have no fear. 
We don't know what they may reveal." 

"You don't, indeed!" said Spargo. "But I may as 
well tell yon that 1 have a strong belief that they'll re- 
veal a good deal that nobody dreams of, so take the 
greatest care of them." 

Then, without waiting for further talk with any one, 
Spargo hurried Breton out of the cemetery. At the 
gate, he seized him by the arm. 

"Now, then, Breton!" he commanded. "Out with 
it!" 

"With what?" 

"You promised to tell me something — a great deal, 
you said — if we found that cofBn empty. It is empty. 
Come on — quick!" 

"All right. I believe I know where Elphick and 
Cardlestone can be found. That's all." 

"All! It's enough. Where, then, in heaven's 
name?" 

' ' Elphick has a queer little place where he and Cardle- 
stone sometimes go fishing — right away up in one of the 
wildest parts of the Yorkshire moors. I expect they've 
gone there. Nobody knows even their names there — 
they could go and lie quiet there for — ages." 

"Do you know the way to it?" 

"I do — I've been there." 

Spargo motioned him to hurry. 

"Come on, then," he said. "We're going there by 
the very first train out of this. I know the train, too — 



284 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

we 've just time to snatch a mouthful of breakfast and 
to send a wire to the Watchman, and then we'll be off. 
Yorkshire! — ^Gad, Breton, that's over three hundred 
miles away!" 



CHAPTEB THIRTY-THREE 

FORESTALLED 

Travelliug all that long summer day, first from the 
south-west of England to the Midlands, then from the 
Midlands to the north, Spargo and Breton came late at 
night to Hawes' Junction, on the border of Yorkshire 
and Westmoreland, and saw rising all around them in 
the half-darkness the mighty bulks of the great fells 
which rise amongst that wild and lonely stretch of land. 
At that hour of the night and amidst that weird silence, 
broken only by the murmur of some adjacent waterfall 
the scene was impressive and suggestive; it seemed to 
Spargo as if London were a million miles away, and the 
rush and bustle of human life a thing of another planet. 
Here and there in the valleys he saw a light, but such 
lights were few and far between ; even as he looked some 
of them twinkled and went out. It was evident that he 
and Breton were presently to be alone with the night. 

"How far?" he asked Breton as they walked away 
from the station. 

"We'd better discuss matters," answered Breton. 
"The place is in a narrow valley called Fossdale, some 
six or seven miles away across these fells, and as wild a 
walk as any lover of such things could wish for. It's 
half -past nine now, Spargo: I reckon it will take us a 

285 



286 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

good two and a half hours, if not more, to do it. Now, 
the question is — Do we go straight there, or do we put 
up for the night? There's an inn here at this junction; 
there's the Moor Cock Inn a mile or so along the road 
which we must take before we turn off to the moorland 
and the fells. It's going to be a black night — look at 
those masses of black cloud gathering there! — and pos- 
sibly a wet one, and we've no waterproofs. But it's for 
you to say — I'm game for whatever you like." 

"Do you know the way?" asked Spargo. 

"I've been the way. In the daytime I could go 
straight ahead. I remember all the landmarks. Even 
in the darkness I believe I can find my way. But it's 
rough walking." 

' ' We '11 go straight there, ' ' said Spargo. ' ' Every min- 
ute 's precious. But — can we get a mouthful of bread 
and cheese and a glass of ale first?" 

' ' Good idea ! We '11 call in at the ' Moor Cock. ' Now 
then, while we're on this firm road, step it out lively." 

The "Moor Cock" was almost deserted at that hour: 
there was scarcely a soul in it when the two travellers 
turned in to its dimly-lighted parlour. The landlord, 
bringing the desired refreshment, looked hard at Breton. 

"Come our way again then, sir?" he remarked with 
a sudden grin of recognition. 

"Ah, you remember me?" said Breton. 

"I call in mind when you came here with the two old 
gents last year," replied the landlord. "I hear they're 
here again — Tom Summers was coming across that way 
this morning, and said he'd seen 'em at the little cot- 
tage. Going to join 'em, I reckon, sir?" 



FORESTALLED 287 

Breton kicked Spargo under the table. 

"Yes, we're going to have a day or two with them," 
he answered. "Just to get a breath of your moorland 
air." 

"Well, you'll have a roughish walk over there tonight, 
gentlemen," said the landlord. "There's going to be 
a storm. And it 's a stiliSsh way to make out at this time 
'night." 

"Oh, we'll manage," said Breton, nonchalantly. "I 
know the way, and we're not afraid of a wet skin." 

The landlord laughed, and sitting down on his long 
settle folded his arms and scratched his elbows. 

"There was a gentleman — London gentleman by his 
tongue — came in here this afternoon, and asked the way 
to Possdale," he observed. "He'll be there long since 
— he'd have daylight for his walk. Happen he's one 
of your party? — he asked where the old gentlemen's 
little cottage was." 

Again Spargo felt his shin kicked and made no sign. 

"One of their friends, perhaps," answered Breton. 
"What was he like?" 

The landlord ruminated. He was not good at de- 
scription and was conscious of the fact. 

"Well, a darkish, serious-faced gentleman," he said. 
"Stranger hereabouts, at all events. Wore a grey suit 
— something like your friend's there. Yes — ^he took 
some bread and cheese with him when he heard what 
a long way it was." 

"Wise man," remarked Breton. He hastily finished 
his own bread and cheese, and drank off the rest of his 
pint of ale. ' ' Come on, ' ' he said, ' ' let 's be stepping. ' ' 



288 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Outside, in the almost tangible darkness, Breton 
clutched Sparge 's arm. "Who's the man?" he said. 
"Can you think, Spargo?" 

"Can't," answered Spargo. "I was trying to, while 
that chap was talking. But — it's somebody that's got 
in before us. Not Rathbury, anyhow — he's not serious- 
faced. Heavens, Breton, however are you going to find 
your way in this darkness?" 

"You'll see presently. We follow the road a little. 
Then we turn up the fell side there. On the top, if the 
night clears a bit, we ought to see Great Shunnor Fell 
and Lovely Seat — they're both well over two thousand 
feet, and they stand up well. We want to make for a 
point clear between them. But I warn you, Spargo, it's 
stiff going ! ' ' 

"Go ahead!" said Spargo. "It's the first time in my 
life I ever did anything of this sort, but we're going on 
if it takes us all night. I couldn't sleep in any bed now 
that I've heard there's somebody ahead of us. Go first, 
old chap, and I '11 follow. ' ' 

Breton went steadily forward along the road. That 
was easy work, but when he turned ofE and began to 
thread his way up the fell-side by what was obviously 
no more than a sheep-track, Spargo 's troubles began. 
It seemed to him that he was walking as in a nightmare ; 
all that he saw was magnified and heightened ; the dark- 
ening sky above ; the faint outlines of the towering hills ; 
the gaunt spectres of fir and pine -, the figure of Breton 
forging stolidly and surely ahead. Now the ground was 
soft and spongy under his feet; now it was stony and 
rugged ; more than once he caught an ankle in the wire- 



FORESTALLED 289 

like heather and tripped, bruising his knees. And in the 
end he resigned himself to keeping his eye on Breton, 
outlined against the sky, and following doggedly in his 
footsteps. 

"Was there no other way than this?" he asked after 
a long interval of silence. "Do you mean to say those 
two — Elphick and Cardlestone — would take this way?" 

"There is another way — down the valley, by Thwaite 
Bridge and Hardraw," answered Breton, "but it's 
miles and miles round. This is a straight cut across 
country, and in daylight it's a delightful walk. But 
at night — Gad ! — ^here 's the rain, Spargo ! ' ' 

The rain came down as it does in that part of the 
world, with a suddenness that was as fierce as it was 
heavy. The whole of the grey night was blotted out ; 
Spargo was only conscious that he stood in a vast soli- 
tude and was being gradually drowned. But Breton, 
whose sight was keener, and who had more knowledge of 
the situation dragged his companion into the shelter of 
a group of rocks. He laughed a little as they huddled 
closely together. 

"This is a different sort of thing to pursuing detec- 
tive work in Fleet Street, Spargo," he said. "You 
would come on, you know. ' ' 

"I'm going on if we go through cataracts and floods," 
answered Spargo. "I might have been induced to stop 
at the 'Moor Cock' overnight if we hadn't heard of that 
ch^p in front. If he's after those two he's somebody 
who knows something. "What I can't make out is — ^who 
he can be. ' ' 

"Nor I," said Breton. "I can't think of anybody 



290 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

who knows of this retreat. But — ^has it ever struck you, 
Spargo, that somebody beside yourself may have been 
investigating?" 

"Possible," replied Spargo. "One never knows. I 
only wish we'd been a few hours earlier. For I wanted 
to have the first word with those two. ' ' 

The rain ceased as suddenly as it had come. Just 
as suddenly the heavens cleared. And going forward 
to the top of the ridge which they were then crossing, 
Breton pointed an arm to something shining far away 
below them. 

"You see that?" he said. "That's a sheet of water 
lying between us and Cotterdale. We leave that on our 
right hand, climb the fell beyond it, drop down into 
Cotterdale, cross two more ranges of fell, and come down 
into Fossdale under Lovely Seat. There's a good two 
hours and a half stiff pull yet, Spargo. Think you can 
stick it?" 

Spargo set his teeth. 

"Go on!" he said. 

Up hill, down dale, now up to his ankles in peaty 
ground, now tearing his shins, now bruising his knees, 
Spargo, yearning for the London lights, the well-paved 
London streets, the convenient taxi-cab, even the humble 
omnibus, plodded forward after his guide. It seemed 
to him that they had walked for ages and had traversed 
a whole continent of mountains and valley when at last 
Breton, halting on the summit of a wind-swept ridge, 
laid one hand on his companion's shoulder and pointed 
downward with the other. 

"There!" he said. "There!" 



FORESTALLED 291 

Spargo looked ahead into the night. Far away, at 
what seemed to him to be a considerable distance, he 
saw the faint, very faint glimmer of a light — a mere 
spark of a light. 

"That's the cottage," said Breton. "Late as it is, 
you see, they're up. And here's the roughest bit of the 
journey. It'll take me all my time to find the track 
across this moor, Spargo, so step carefully after me — 
there are bogs and holes hereabouts." 

Another hour had gone by ere the two came to the 
cottage. Sometimes the guiding light had vanished, 
blotted out by intervening rises in the ground; always, 
when they saw it again, they were slowly drawing nearer 
to it. And now when they were at last close to it, Spargo 
realized that he found himself in one of the loneliest 
places he had ever been capable of imagining — so lonely 
and desolate a spot he had certainly never seen. In the 
dim light he could see a narrow, crawling stream, mak- 
ing its way down over rocks and stones from the high 
ground of Great Shunnor Fell. Opposite to the place 
at which they stood, on the edge of the moorland, a horse- 
shoe like formation of ground was backed by a ring of 
fir and pine ; beneath, this protecting fringe of trees stood 
a small building of grey stone which looked as if it had 
been originally built by some shepherd as a pen for the 
moorland sheep. It was of no more than one storey in 
height, but of some length ; a considerable part of it was 
hidden by shrubs and brushwood. And from one un- 
curtained, blindless window the light of a lamp shone 
boldly into the fading darkness without. 

Breton pulled up on the edge of the crawling stream. 



292 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"We've got to get across there, Spargo," he said. 
"But as we're already soaked to the knee it doesn't mat- 
ter about getting another wetting. Have you any idea 
how long we've been walking?" 

"Hours — days — ^years!" replied Spargo. 

"I should say quite four hours," said Breton. "In 
that case, it's well past two o'clock, and the light will 
be breaking in another hour or so. Now, once across 
this stream, what shall we do?" 

"What have we come to do? Go to the cottage, of 
course!" 

"Wait a bit. No need to startle them. By the fact 
they've got a light, I take it that they're up. Look 
there!" 

As he spoke, a figure crossed the window passing be- 
tween it and the light. 

"That's not Elphick, nor yet Cardlestone," said 
Spargo. "They're medium-heighted men. That's a 
tallish man." 

"Then it's the man the landlord of the 'Moor Cock' 
told us about," said Breton. "Now, look here — I know 
every inch of this place. When we're across let me go 
up to the cottage, and I'll take an observation through 
that window and see who's inside. Come on." 

He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a 
succession of boulders made a natural bridge, and bid- 
ding him keep quiet, went up the bank to the cottage. 
Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way past the 
shrubs and undergrowth until he came to a great bush 
which stood between the lighted window and the pro- 
jecting porch of the cottage. He lingered in the shadow 



FORESTALLED 

of this bush but for a short moment; then came swiftly 
and noiselessly back to his companion. His hand fell on 
Spargo's arm with a clutch of nervous excitement. 

"Spargo!" he whispered. "Who on earth do you 
think the other man is ? " 



CHAPTER THIETY-FOUB 

THE WHIP HAND 

Spargo, almost irritable from desire to get at close 
grips with the objects of his long journey, shook off 
Breton's hand with a growl of resentment. 

"And how on earth can I waste time guessing?" he 
exclaimed. "Who is he?" 

Breton laughed softly. 

"Steady, Spargo, steady!" he said. "It's Myerst— 
the Safe Deposit man. Myerst!" 

Spargo started as if something had bitten him. 

"Myerst!" he almost shouted. "Myerst! Good 
Lord! — ^why did I never think of him? Myerst! 
Then " 

"I don't know why you should have thought of him," 
said Breton. "But — he's there." 

Spargo took a step towards the cottage ; Breton pulled 
him back. 

"Wait!" he said. "We've got to discuss this. I'd 
better tell you what they're doing." 

"What are they doing, then?" demanded Spargo im- 
patiently. 

"Well," answered Breton. "They're going through 
a quantity of papers. The two old gentlemen look very 
ill and very miserable. Myerst is evidently laying down 

294 



THE WHIP HAND 295 

the law to them in some fashion or other. I've formed 
a notion, Spargo. ' ' 

"What notion?" 

' ' Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, 
and he's followed them down here to blackmail them. 
That's my notion." 

Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river 
bank. 

"I daresay you're right," he said. "Now, what's to 
be done?" 

Breton, too, considered matters. 

"I wish," he said at last, "I wish we could get in 
there and overhear what's going on. But that's impos- 
sible — I know that cottage. The only thing we can do 
is this — ^we must catch Myerst unawares. He 's here for 
no good. Look here ! ' ' 

And reaehing round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out 
a Browning revolver and wagged it in his hand with a 
smile. 

' ' That 's a useful thing to have, Spargo, ' ' he remarked. 
"I slipped it into my pocket the other day, wondering 
why on earth I did it. Now it'll come in handy. For 
anything we know Myerst may be armed. ' ' ' 

"Well?" said Spargo. 

"Come up to the cottage. If things turn out as I 
think they will, Myerst, when he's got what he wants, 
will be off. Now, you shall get where I did just now, 
behind that bush, and I'll station myself in the doorway. 
You can report to me, and when Myerst comes out I'll 
cover him. Gome on, Spargo; it's beginning to get light 
already. ' ' 



296 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Breton cautiously led the way along the river bank, 
making use of such cover as the willows and alders af- 
forded. Together, he and Spargo made their way to 
the front of the cottage. Arrived at the door, Breton 
posted himself in the porch, motioning to Spargo to 
creep in behind the bushes and to look through the win- 
dow. And Spargo noiselessly followed his directions 
and slightly parting the branches which concealed him 
looked in through the uncurtained glass. 

The interior into which he looked was rough and com- 
fortless in the extreme. There were the bare accessories 
of a moorland cottage; rough chairs and tables, plas- 
tered walls, a fishing rod or two piled in a comer ; some 
food set out on a side table. At the table in the middle 
of the floor the three men sat. Cardlestone's face was 
in the shadow ; Myerst had his back to the window ; old 
Elphick bending over the table was laboriously writing 
with shaking fingers. And Spargo twisted his head 
round to his companion. 

"Elphick," he said, "is writing a cheque. Myerst 
has another cheque in his hand. Be ready! — ^when he 
gets that second cheque I guess he'll be off." 

Breton smiled grimly and nodded. A moment later 
Spargo whispered again. 

"Look out, Breton! He's coming." 

Breton drew back into the angle of the porch ; Spargo 
quitted his protecting bush and took the other angle. 
The door opened. And they heard Myerst 's voice, 
threatening, commanding in tone. 

"Now, remember all I've said! And don't you for- 



THE WHIP HAND 297 

get — I've the whip hand of both of you— the whip 
hand!" 

Then Myerst turned and stepped out into the grey 
light — to find himself confronted by an athletic young 
man who held the muzzle of an ugly revolver within 
two inches of the bridge of his nose and in a remark- 
ably firm and steady grip. Another glance showed him 
the figure of a second business-like looking young man 
at his side, whose attitude showed a desire to grapple 
with him. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Myerst," said Breton with cold 
and ironic politeness. "We are glad to meet you so un- 
expectedly. And — I must trouble you to put up your 
hands. Quick ! ' ' 

Myerst made one hurried movement of his right hand 
towards his hip, but a sudden growl from Breton made 
him shift it just as quickly above his head, whither the 
left followed it. Breton laughed softly. 

"That's wise, Mr. Myerst," he said, keeping his re- 
volver steadily pointed at his prisoner's nose. "Discre- 
tion will certainly be the better part of your valour on 
this occasion. Spargo — may I trouble you to see what 
Mr. Myerst carries in his pockets? Go through them 
carefully. Not for papers or documents — ^just now. 
We can leave that matter — ^we 've plenty of time. See if 
he's got a weapon of any sort on him, Spargo — that's the 
important thing." 

Considering that Spargo had never gone through the 
experience of searching a man before, he made sharp and 
creditable work of seeing what the prisoner carried. 



298 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

And he forthwith drew out and exhibited a revolver, 
while Myerst, finding his tongue, cursed them both, 
heartily and with profusion. 

"Excellent!" said Breton, laughing again. "Sure 
he's got nothing else on him that's dangerous, Spargo? 
All right. Now, Mr. Myerst, right about face! Walk 
into the cottage, hands up, and remember there are two 
revolvers behind your back. March!" 

Myerst obeyed this peremptory order with more 
curses. The three walked into the cottage. Breton 
kept his eye on his captive ; Spargo gave a glance at the 
two old men. Cardlestone, white and shaking, was ly- 
ing back in his chair; Elphick, scarcely less alarmed, 
had risen, and was coming forward with trembling limbs. 

""Wait a moment," said Breton, soothingly. "Don't 
alarm yourself; We'll deal with Mr. Myerst here first. 
Now, Myerst, my man, sit down in that chair — it's the 
heaviest the place affords. Into it, now! Spargo, you 
see that coil of rope there. Tie Myersst up — hand and 
foot — to that chair. And tie him well. All the knots 
to be double, Spargo, and behind him." 

Myerst suddenly laughed. 

"You damned young bully!" he exclaimed. "If you 
put a rope round me, you're only putting ropes round 
the necks of these two old villains. Mark that, my fine 
fellows!" 

"We'll see about that later," answered Breton. He 
kept Myerst covered while Spargo made play with the 
rope. "Don't be afraid of hurting him, Spargo," he 
said. "Tie him well and strong. He won't shift that 
chair in a hurry. ' ' 



THE WHIP HAND 299 

Spargo spliced his man to the chair in a fashion that 
would have done credit to a sailor. He left Myerst lit- 
erally unable to move either hand or foot, and Myerst 
cursed him from crown to heel for his pains. "That'll 
do," said Breton at last. He dropped his revolver into 
his pocket and turned to the two old men. Blphick 
averted his eyes and sank into a chair in the darkest 
corner of the room: old Cardlestone shook as with palsy 
and muttered words which the two young men could not 
catch. "Guardian," continued Breton, "don't be 
frightened! And don't you be frightened, either, Mr. 
Cardlestone. There's nothing to be afraid of, just yet, 
whatever there may be later on. It seems to me that 
Mr. Spargo and I came just in time. Now, guardian, 
what was this fellow after?" 

Old Elphick lifted his head and shook it; he was 
plainly on the verge of tears ; as for Cardlestone, it was 
evident that his nerve was completely gone. And Breton 
pointed Spargo to an old corner cupboard. 

"Spargo," he said, "I'm pretty sure you'll find 
whisky in there. Give them both a stiif dose: they've 
broken up. Now, guardian, ' ' he continued, when Spargo 
had carried out this order, "what was he after? Shall 
I suggest it? Was it — ^blackmail?" 

Cardlestone began to whimper; Elphick nodded his 
head. "Yes, yes!" he muttered. "Blackmail! That 
was it — blackmail. He — he got money — papers — from 
us. They're on him." 

Breton turned on the captive with a look of contempt. 

"I thought as much, Mr. Myerst," he said. "Spargo, 
let's see what he has on him." 



300 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Spargo began to search the prisoner's pockets. He 
laid out everything on the table as he found it. It was 
plain that Myerst had contemplated some sort of flight 
or a long, long journey. There was a quantity of loose 
gold ; a number of bank-notes of the more easily nego- 
tiated denominations; various foreign securities, realiz- 
able in Paris. And there was an open cheque, signed 
by Cardlestone for ten thousand pounds, and another, 
with Elphick's name at the foot, also open, for half that 
amount. Breton examined all these matters as Spargo 
handed them out. He turned to old Elphick. 

"Guardian," he said, "why have you or Mr. Cardle- 
stone given this man these cheques and securities? 
What hold has he on you ? ' ' 

Old Cardlestone began to whimper afresh; Elphick 
turned a troubled face on his ward. 

"He — he threatened to accuse us of the murder of 
Marbury!" he faltered. "We — we didn't see that we 
had a chance." 

"What does he know of the murder of Marbury and 
of you in connection with it?" demanded Breton. 
"Come — ^tell me the truth now." 

"He's been investigating — so he says," answered El- 
phick. "He lives in that house in Middle Temple Lane, 
you know, in the top-floor rooms above Cardlestone 's. 
And — and he says he's the fullest evidence against 
Cardlestone — and against me as an accessory after the 
fact." 

"And— it's a lie?" asked Breton. 

"A lie!" answered Elphick. "Of course, it's a lie. 
But — he's so clever that — that " 



THE WHIP HAND 301 

"That you don't know how you could prove it other- 
wise," said Breton. "Ah! And so this fellow lives 
over Mr. Cardlestone there, does he ? That may account 
for a good many things. Now we must have the police 
here." He sat down at the table and drew the writing 
materials to him. "Look here, Spargo," he continued. 
"I'm going to write a note to the superintendent of 
police at Hawes — there's a farm half a mile from here 
where I can get a man to ride down to Hawes with the 
note. Now, if you want to send a wire to the Watchman, 
draft it out, and he'll take it with him." 

Elphick began to move in his corner. 

"Must the police come?" he said. "Must " 

"The police must come," answered Breton firmly. 
"Go ahead with your wire, Spargo, while I write this 
note." 

Three quarters of an hour later, when Breton came 
back from the farm, he sat down at Elphick 's side and 
laid his hand on the old man's. 

"Now, guardian," he said, quietly, "you've got to 
tell us the truth." 



CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 

MYERST EXPLAINS 

It had been apparent to Spargo, from the moment of 
his entering the cottage, that the two old men were suf- 
fering badly from shock and fright: Cardlestone still 
sat in his corner shivering and trembling ; he looked in- 
capable of explaining anything; Elphick was scarcely 
more fitted to speak. And when Breton issued his 
peremptory invitation to his guardian to tell the truth, 
Spargo intervened. 

"Far better leave him alone, Breton," he said in a 
low voice. "Don't you see the old chap's done up? 
They're both done up. We don't know what they've 
gone through with this fellow before we came, and it's 
certain they 've had no sleep. Leave it all till later — af- 
ter all, we've found them and we've found him." He 
jerked his thumb over his shoulder in My erst 's direc- 
tion, and Breton involuntarily followed the movement. 
He caught the prisoner's eye, and Myerst laughed. 

"I daresay you two young men think yourselves very 
clever," he said sneeringly. "Don't you, now?" 

""We've been clever enough to catch you, anyway," 
retorted Breton. "And now we've got you we'll keep 
you till the police can relieve us of you." 

"Oh!" said Myerst, with another sneering laugh. 
302 



MYERST EXPLAINS 303 

"And on what charge do you propose to hand me over to 
the police? It strikes me you'll have some difficulty in 
formulating one, Mr. Breton." 

"We'll see about that later," said Breton. "You've 
extorted money by menaces from these gentlemen, at any 
rate." 

"Have I? How do you know they didn't entrust 
me with these cheques as their agent?'' exclaimed My- 
erst. "Answer me that! Or, rather, let them answer 
if they dare. Here you, Cardlestone,. you Elphick — 
didn't you give me these cheques as your agent? Speak 
up now, and quick ! ' ' 

Spargo, watching the two old men, saw them both 
quiver at the sound of Myerst's voice; Cardlestone in- 
deed, began to whimper softly. 

"Look here, Breton," he said, whispering, "this 
scoundrel's got some hold on these two old chaps — they're 
frightened, to death of him. Leave them alone : it would 
be best for them if they could get some rest. Hold your 
tongue, you ! " he added aloud, turning to Myerst. 
"When we want you to speak we'll tell you." 

But Myerst laughed again. 

"All very high and mighty, Mr. Spargo of the Watch- 
man!" he sneered. "You're another of the cock-sure 
lot. And you're very clever, but not clever enough. 
Now, look here ! Supposing " 

Spargo turned his back on him. He went over to old 
Cardlestone and felt his hands. And he turned to 
Breton with a look of concern. 

"I say!" he exclaimed. "He's more than fright- 
ened—he 's ill ! What 's to be done ? ' ' 



304 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

"I asked the police to bring a doctor along with 
them," answered Breton. "In the meantime, kt's put 
him to bed — there are beds in that inner room. We'll 
get him to bed and give him something hot to drink — 
that's all I can think of for the present." 

Between them they managed to get Cardlestone to 
his bed, and Spargo, with a happy thought, boiled water 
on the rusty stove and put hot bottles to his feet. When 
that was done they persuaded Blphick to lie down in the 
inner room. Presently both old men fell asleep, and ' 
then Breton and Spargo suddenly realized that they 
themselves were hungry and wet and weary. 

"There ought to be food in the cupboard," said 
Breton, beginning to rummage. "They've generally 
had a good stock of tinned things. Here we are, Spargo 
— these are tongues and sardines. Make some hot coffee 
while I open one of these tins. ' ' 

The prisoner watched the preparations for a rough 
and ready breakfast with eyes that eventually began to 
glisten. 

"I may remind you that I'm hungry, too," he said as 
Spargo set the coffee on the table. "And you've no 
right to starve me, even if you 've the physical ability to 
keep me tied up. Give me something to eat, if you 
please. ' ' 

"You shan't starve," said Breton, carelessly. He cut 
an ample supply of bread and meat, filled a cup with 
coffee and placed cup and plate before Myerst. "Untie 
his right arm, Spargo," he continued. "I think we can 
give him that liberty. We've got his revolver, any- 
how." 



• MYERST EXPLAINS 305 

For a while the three men ate and drank in silence. 
At last Myerst pushed his plate away. He looked scru- 
tinizingly at his two captors. "Look here!" he said. 
"You think you know a lot ahout all this affair, Spargo, 
but there's only one person who knows all about it. 
That's me!" 

"We're taking that for granted," said Spargo. "We 
guessed as much when we found you here. You'll have 
ample opportunity for explanation, you know, later on. ' ' 

"I'll explain now, if you care to hear," said Myerst 
with another of his cynical laughs. "And if I do, I'll 
tell you the truth. I know you've got an idea in your 
heads that isn't favourable to me, but you're utterly 
wrong, whatever you may think. Look here ! — ^I '11 make 
you a fair offer. There are some cigars in my case there 
— give me one, and mix me a drink of that whisky — a 
good 'un — and I'll tell you what I know about this mat- 
ter. Come on! — any thing's better than sitting here do- 
ing nothing." 

The two young men looked at each other. Then 
Breton nodded. "Let him talk if he likes," he said. 
"We're not bound to believe him. And we may hear 
something that's true. Give him his cigar and his drink. 

Myerst took a stiff pull at the contents of the tumbler 
which Spargo presently set before him. He laughed as 
he inhaled the first fumes of his cigar. 

"As it happens, you'll hear nothing but the truth," 
he observed. "Now that things are as they are, there's 
no reason why I shouldn't tell the truth. The fact is, 
I've nothing to fear. You can't give me in charge, for 
it so happens that I've got a power of attorney from 



306 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

these two old chaps inside there to act for them in re- 
gard to the money they entrusted me with. It's in an 
inside pocket of that letter-case, and if you look at it, 
Breton, you'll see it's in order. I'm not even going to 
dare you to interfere with or destroy it — you're a bar- 
rister, and you'll respect the law. But that's a fact — 
and if anybody's got a case against anybody, I have 
against you two for assault and illegal detention. But 
I'm not a vindictive man, and " 

Breton took up Myerst's letter-case and examined its 
contents. And presently he turned to Spargo. 

"He's right!" he whispered. "This is quite in or- 
der." He turned to Myerst. "All the same," he said, 
addressing him, "we shan't release you, because we be- 
lieve you're concerned in the murder of John Marbury. 
We're justified in holding you on that account." 

"All right, my young friend," said Myerst. "Have 
your own stupid way. But I said I 'd tell you the plain 
truth. "Well, the plain truth is that I know no more of 
the absolute murder of your father than I know of what 
is going on in Timbuctoo at this moment! I do not 
know who killed John Maitland. That's a fact! It 
may have been the old man in there who's already at 
his own last gasp, or it mayn't. I tell you •! don't know 
— though, like you, Spargo, I've tried hard to find out. 
That's the truth — I do not know." 

"You expect us to believe that?" exclaimed Breton 
incredulously. 

"Believe it or not, as you like — it's the truth," an- 
swered Myerst. "Now, look here — I said nobody knew 
as much of this affair as I know, and that's true also. 



MYERST EXPLAINS 307 

And here's the truth of what I know. The old man in 
that room, whom you know as Nicholas Cardlestone, is in 
reality Chamberlayne, the stockbroker, of Market Mil- 
caster, whose name was so freely mentioned when your 
father was tried there. That's another fact!" 

"How," asked Breton, sternly, "can you prove it? 
How do you know it?" 

"Because," replied Myerst, with a cunning grin, "I 
helped to carry out his mock death and burial — I was a 
solicitor in those days, and my name was — something 
else. There were three of us at it: Chamberlayne 's 
nephew; a doctor of no reputation; and myself. We 
carried it out very cleverly, and Chamberlayne gave us 
five thousand pounds apiece for our trouble. It was not 
the first time that I had helped him and been well paid 
for my help. The first time was in connection with the 
Cloudhampton Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit So- 
ciety affair — Aylmore, or Ainsworth, was as innocent as 
a child in that! — Chamberlayne was the man at the 
back. But, unfortunately, Chamberlayne didn't profit 
— ^he lost aU he got by it, pretty quick. That was why 
be transferred his abilities to Market Milcaster." 

"You can prove all this, I suppose?" remarked 
Spargo. 

"Every word — every letter! But about the Market 
Milcaster affair: Your father, Breton, was right in 
what he said about Chamberlayne having all the money 
that was got from the bank. He had — and he engi- 
neered that mock death and funeral so that he could 
disappear, and he paid us who helped him generously, 
as I've told you. The thing couldn't have been better 



308 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

done. When it was done, the nephew disappeared ; the 
doctor disappeared; Chamberlayne disappeared. I had 
bad luck — to tell you the truth, I was struck o£E the rolls 
for a technical offence. So I changed my name and 
became Mr. Myerst, and eventually what I am now. And 
it was not until three years ago that I found Chamber- 
layne. I found him in this way: After I became sec- 
retary to the Safe Deposit Company, I took chambers in 
the Temple, above Cardlestone 's. And I speedily found 
out who he was. Instead of going abroad, the old fox — 
though he was a comparatively young 'un, then! — ^had 
shaved off his beard, settled down in the Temple and 
given himself up to his two hobbies, collecting curiosities 
and stamps. There he'd lived quietly all these years, 
and nobody had ever recognized or suspected him. In- 
deed, I don't see how they could; he lived such a quiet, 
secluded life, with his collections, his old port, and his 
little whims and fads. But — I knew him ! ' ' 

"And you doubtless profited by your recognition," 
suggested Breton. 

"I certainly did. He was glad to pay me a nice 
sum every quarter to hold my tongue," replied My- 
erst, "and I was glad to take it and, naturally, I gained 
a considerable knowledge of him. He had only one 
friend — ^Mr. Elphick, in there. Now, I'll you about 
him." 

"Only if you are going to speak respectfully of him," 
said Breton sternly. 

"I've no reason to do otherwise. Elphick is the man 
who ought to have married your mother. When things 
turned out as they did, Elphick took you and brought 



MYERST EXPLAINS 309 

you up as he has done, so that you should never know 
of your father's disgrace. Elphick never knew until 
last night that Cardlestone is Chamberlayne. Even the 
biggest scoundrels have friends — Elphick 's very fond 
of Cardlestone. He " 

Spargo turned sharply on Myerst. 

"You say Elphick didn't know until last night!" he 
exclaimed. "Why, then, this running away? What 
were they running from?" 

"I have no more notion than you have, Spargo," re- 
plied Myerst. "I tell you one or other of them knows 
something that I don't. Elphick, I gather, took fright 
from you, and went to Cardlestone — then they both van- 
ished. It may be that Cardlestone did kill Maitland — 
I don't know. But I'll tell you what I know about the 
actual murder — for I do know a good deal about it, 
though, as I say, I don't know who killed Maitland. 
Now, first, you know all that about Maitland 's having 
papers and valuables and gold on him? Very well — 
I've got all that. The whole lot is locked up — safely — 
and I 'm willing to hand it over to you, Breton, when we 
go back to town, and the necessary proof is given — as it 
will be-^that you're Maitland 's son." 

Myerst paused to see the effect of this announcement, 
and laughed when he saw the blank astonishment which 
stole over his hearers' faces. 

"And still more," he continued, "I've got all the 
contents of that leather box which Maitland deposited 
with me — ^that's safely locked up, too, and at your dis- 
posal. I took possession of that the day after the mur- 
der. Then, for purposes of my own, I went to Scotland 



310 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Yard, as Spargo there is aware. You see, I was playing 
a game — and it required some ingenuity." 

"A game!" exclaimed Breton. "Good heavens — 
what game?" 

"I never knew until I had possession of all these 
things that Marbury was Maitland of Market Milcaster," 
answered Myerst. "When I did know then I began to 
put things together and to pursue my own line, inde- 
pendent of everybody. I tell you I had all Maitland 's 
papers and possessions, by that time — except one thing. 
That packet of Australian stamps. And — I found out 
that those stamps were in the hands of — Cardlestone!" 



CHAPTER THIBTT-SIX 

THE FINAL TELEGRAM 

Myerst paused, to take a pull at his glass, and to look 
at the two amazed listeners with a smile of conscious 
triumph. 

"In the hands of Cardlestone, " he repeated. "Now, 
what did I argue from that? Why, of course, that 
Maitland had been to Cardlestone 's rooms that night. 
Wasn't he found lying dead at the foot of Cardlestone 's 
stairs? Aye — ^but who found him? Not the porter — 
not the police — not you, Master Spargo, with all your 
cleverness. The man who found Maitland lying dead 
there that night was — I ! ' ' 

In the silence that followed, Spargo, who had been 
making notes of what Myerst said, suddenly dropped his 
pencil and thrusting his hands in his pockets sat bolt 
upright with a look which Breton, who was watching 
him seriously, could not make out. It was the look of a 
man whose ideas and conceptions are being rudely up- 
set. And Myerst, too, saw it and he laughed, more 
sneeringly than ever. 

"That's one for you, Spargo!" he said. "That sur- 
prises you — that maJies you think. Now what do you 
think? — if one may ask." 

"I think," said Spargo, "that you are either a con- 

311 



312 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

summate liar, or that this mystery is bigger than be- 
fore." 

"I can lie when it's necessary," retorted Myerst. 
"Just now it isn't necessary. I'm telling you the plain 
truth: there's no reason why I shouldn't. As I've said 
before, although you two young bullies have tied me up 
in this fashion, you can't do anything against me. I've 
a power of attorney from those two old men in there, and 
that's enough to satisfy anybody as to my possession of 
their cheques and securities. I 've the whip hand of you, 
my sons, in all ways. And that's why I'm telling you 
the truth — ^to amuse myself during this period of wait- 
ing. The plain truth, my sons ! ' ' 

"In pursuance of which," observed Breton, drily, "I 
think you mentioned that you were the first person to 
find my father lying dead?" 

"I was. That is — as far as I can gather. I'll teU 
you all about it. As I said, I live over Cardlestone. 
That night I came home very late — it was well past one 
o'clock. There was nobody about — as a matter of fact, 
no one has residential chambers in that building but 
Cardlestone and myself. I found the body of a man 
lying in the entry. I struck a match and immediately 
recognized my visitor of the afternoon — John Marbury. 
Now, although I was so late in going home, I was as sober 
as a man can be, and I think pretty quickly at all times. 
I thought a:t double extra speed just then. And the first 
thing I did was to strip the body of every article it had 
on it — money, papers, everything. All these things are 
safely locked up — they've never been tracked. Next 
day, using my facilities as secretary to the Safe Deposit 



THE FINAL TELEGRAM 31S 

Company, I secured the things in that box. Then I 
found out who the dead man really was. And then I 
deliberately set to work to throw dust in the eyes of the 
police and of the newspapers, and particularly in the 
eyes of young Master Spargo there. I had an object." 

"What?" asked Breton. 

"What! Knowing all I did, I firmly believed that 
Marbury, or, rather, Maitland, had been murdered by 
either Cardlestone or Elphick. I put it to myself in 
this way, and my opinion was strengthened as you, 
Spargo, inserted news in your paper — Maitland, finding 
himself in the vicinity of Cardlestone after leaving Ayl- 
more's rooms that night, turned into our building, per- 
haps jiist to see where Cardlestone lived. He met Car- 
dlestone accidentally, or he perhaps met Cardlestone and 
Elphick together — ^they recognized each other. Mait- 
land probably threatened to expose Cardlestone, or, 
rather, Chamberlayne — nobody, of course, could know 
what happened, but my theory was that Chamberlayne 
killed him. There, at any rate, was the fact that Mait- 
land was found murdered at Chamberlayne 's very thres- 
hold. And, in the course of a few days, I proved, to my 
own positive satisfaction, by getting access to Cham- 
berlayne 's rooms in his absence that Maitland had been 
there, had been in those rooms. For I found there, in 
Chamberlayne 's desk, the rare Australian stamps of 
which Criedir told at the inquest. That was proof posi- 
tive." 

Spargo looked at Breton. They knew what Myerst 
did not know — that the stamps of which he spoke were 
lying in Spargo 's breast pocket, where they had lain 



314. THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

since he had picked them up from the litter and confu- 
sion of Chamberlayne's floor. 

"Why," asked Breton, after a pause, "why did you 
never accuse Cardlestone, or Chamberlayne, of the mur^ 
der?" 

"I did! I have accused him a score of times — and 
Elphick, too," replied Myerst with emphasis. "Not at 
first, mind you — I never let Chamberlayne know that I 
ever suspected him for some time. I had my own game 
to play. But at last — ^not so many days ago — I did. 
I accused them both. That's how I got the whip hand 
of them. They began to be afraid — by that time El- 
phick had got to know all about Cardlestone 's past as 
Chamberlayne. And as I tell you, Elphick 's fond of 
Cardlestone. It's queer, but he is. He — wants to shield 
him." 

"What did they say when you accused them?" asked 
Breton. "Let's keep to that point — ^never mind their 
feelings for one another. ' ' 

"Just so, but that feeling's a lot more to do with this 
mystery than you think, my young friend," said Myerst. 
"What did they say, you ask? Why, they strenuously 
denied it. Cardlestone swore solemnly to me that he 
had no part or lot in the murder of Maitland. So did 
Elphick. But — they know something about the murder. 
If those two old men can't tell you definitely who ac- 
tually struck John Maitland down, I'm certain that they 
have a very clear idea in their minds as to who really 
did! They " 

A sudden sharp cry from the inner room interrupted 



THE FINAL TELEGRAM 315 

Myerst. Breton and Spargo started to their feet and 
made for the door. But before they could reach it El- 
phick came out, white and shaking. 

"He's gone!" he exclaimed in quavering accents. 
"My old friend's gone — he's dead! I was — asleep. I 
woke suddenly and looked at him. He " 

Spargo forced the old man into a chair and gave him 
some whislg^ ; Breton passed quickly into the inner room ; 
only to come back shaking his head. 

"He's dead," he said. "He evidently died in his 
sleep. ' ' 

"Then his secret's gone with him," remarked Myerst, 
calmly. "And now we shall never know if he did kill 
John Maitland or if he didn't. So that's done with!" 

Old Elphick suddenly sat up in his chair, pushing 
Spargo fiercely away from his side. 

"He didn't kill John Maitland!" he cried angrily, 
attempting to' shake his fist at Myerst. "Whoever says 
he killed Maitland lies. He was as innocent as I am. 
You've tortured and tormented him to his death with 
that charge, as you're torturing me — among you. I tell 
you he'd nothing to do with John Maitland 's death — 
nothing ! ' ' 

Myerst laughed. 

"Who had, then?" he said. 

"Hold your tongue!" commanded Breton, turning 
angrily on him. He sat down by Elphick 's side and 
laid his hand soothingly on the old man's arm. 

"Guardian," he said, "why don't you tell what you 
know? Don't be afraid of that fellow there — he's safe 



316 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

enough. Tell Spargo and me what you know of the 
matter. Remember, nothing can hurt Cardlestone, or 
Chamberlayne, or whoever he is or was, now." 

Blphiek sat for a moment shaking his head. He al- 
lowed Spargo to give him another drink; he lifted his 
head and looked at the two young men with something 
of an appeal. 

"I'm badly shaken," he said. "I've suffered much 
lately — I've learnt things that I didn't know. Perhaps 
I ought to have spoken before, but I was afraid for — ^for 
him. He was a good friend, Cardlestone, whatever else 
he may have been — a good friend. And — I don't know 
any more than what happened that night." 
"Tell us what happened that night," said Breton. 
"Well, that night I went round, as I often did, to 
play piquet with Cardlestone. That was about ten 
o'clock. About eleven Jane Baylis came to Cardlestone 's 
— she'd been to my rooms to find me — wanted to see me 
particularly— and she'd come on there, knowing where 
I should be. Cardlestone would make her have a glass 
of wine and a biscuit; she sat down and we all talked. 
Then, about, I should think, a quarter to twelve, a knock 
came at Cardlestone 's door — his outer door was open, 
and of course anybody outside could see lights within. 
Cardlestone went to the door: we heard a man's voice 
enquire for him by name; then the voice added that 
Criedir, the stamp dealer, had advised him to call on 
Mr. Cardlestone to show him some rare Aiustralian 
stamps, and that seeing a light under his door he had 
knocked. Cardlestone asked him in — ^he came in. That 
was the man we saw next day at the mortuary. Upon 



THE FINAL TELEGRAM 317 

my honour, we didn't know him, either that night or 
next day!" 

"What happened when he came in?" asked Breton. 

"Cardlestone asked him to sit down: he offered and 
gave him a drink. The man said Criedir had given him 
Cardlestone 's address, and that he'd been with a friend 
at some rooms in Fountain Court, and as he was passing 
our building he'd just looked to make sure where Cardle- 
stone lived, and as he'd noticed a light he'd made bold 
to knock. He and Cardlestone began to examine the 
stamps. Jane Baylis said good-night, and she and I left 
Cardlestone and the man together." 

"No one had recognized him?" said Breton. 

"No one! Eememher, I only once or twice saw Mait- 
land in all my life. The others certainly did not recog- 
nize him. At least, I never knew that they did — if they 
did." 

"Tell us," said Spargo, joining in for the first time, 
"tell us what you and Miss Baylis did?" 

"At the foot of the stairs Jane Baylis suddenly said 
she'd forgotten something in Cardlestone 's lobby. As 
she was going out in to Fleet Street, and I was going 
down Middle Temple Lane to turn off to my own rooms 
we said good-night. She went back upstairs. And I 
went home. And upon my soul and honour that's all I 
know!" 

Spargo suddenly leapt to his feet. He snatched at his 
cap — a sodden and bedraggled headgear which he had 
thrown down when they entered the cottage. 

"That's enough!" he almost shouted. "I've got it — 
at last! Breton — where 's the nearest telegraph office? 



318 THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER 

Hawes? Straight down this valley? Then, here's for 
it ! Look after things till I 'm back, or, when the police 
come, join me there. I shall catch the first train to town, 
anyhow, after wiring." 

"But — ^what are you after, Spargo?" exclaimed 
Breton. ' ' Stop ! What on earth ' ' 

But Spargo had closed the door and was running for 
all he was worth down the valley. Three quarters of 
an hour later he startled a quiet and peaceful telegra- 
phist by darting, breathless and dirty, into a sleepy 
country post office, snatching a telegraph form and scrib- 
bling down a message in shaky handwriting : — 

Bathbury, Ne-w Scotland Yard, London. 
Arrest Jaifie BayUs at once for murder of John Mait- 
land. Coming straight to town with full evidence. 

Fromk Spargo. 

Then Spargo dropped on the ofl5ce bench, and while the 
wondering operator set the wires ticking, strove to get 
his breath, utterly spent in his mad race across the 
heather. And when it was got he set omt again — to find 
the station. 

Some days later, Spargo, having seen Stephen Ayl- 
more walk out of the Bow Street dock, cleared of the 
charge against him, and in a fair way of being cleared 
of the affair of twenty years before, found himself in a 
very quiet corner of the Court holding the hand of Jessie 
Aylmore, who, he discovered, was saying things to him 



THE FINAL TELEGRAM 319 

which he scarcely comprehended. There was nobody 
near them and the girl spoke freely and warmly. 

"But you will come — you will come today — and be 
properly thanked," she said. "You will — won't you?" 

Spargo allowed himself to retain possession of the 
hand. Also he took a straight look into Jessie Ayl- 
more'seyes. 

"I don't want thanks," he said. "It was all a lot of 
luck. And if I come — ^today — it will be to see — ^just 
you!" 

Jessie Aylmore looked down at the two hands. 

"I think," she whispered, "I think that is what I 
really meant ! ' ' 



THE END